Picture Imperfect Read online

  ‘Hey, don’t knock Danny. He’s a good bloke. He was a good mate to me until we lost touch. We had a lot of fun together. We had this great couple of days in Bristol a few years back.’

  ‘So?’ I’m getting a little suspicious here. Mark is prevaricating too much. He’s talking up Danny like he’s going to move him in with us or something.

  ‘Well, it’s like this. Danny was going on this holiday he’d planned with this mate of his called Callum. Greece. Little island called Zante. Somewhere on the west coast, I think. Never heard of it myself. Lovely hotel, apparently. Swimming pool, the works.’

  ‘Yeah yeah yeah. Go on.’

  ‘So he’d got the tickets sorted out and the hotel rooms booked and everything like that, then on Thursday, yesterday, something awful happened. Callum came off his bike on the way back from the pub the other night…’

  That tells me all I need to know about Callum, then. Callum = major dipstick.

  ‘…and he put his hand out to break his fall and broke his wrist really badly. His hand, wrist and forearm are in plaster. Really hurt, apparently.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ I must have precognition, because I can see what’s coming. Mark has taken a week’s leave next week. We were going to bum around doing nothing, maybe take a few day trips to the centre of London. I was looking forward to visiting a few of the big art galleries to get some inspiration. Mark doesn’t mind doing this as most of them are free. I was probably going to do a bit of work, but nothing serious. There were also a couple of movies we were thinking of going to see. I haven’t told Mark, but I’ve already booked one of them. We even talked about going out for a meal – an excuse for me to wear my (fairly) new LBD. I seem to be speaking in the past tense for some reason.

  ‘So anyway, Danny’s really upset about it. They were going with a couple of girl friends of Callum’s. Not girlfriends or anything. Just girls who are friends, know what I mean?’

  ‘Yeah. Just friends of Callum’s who happen to be girls. Girl friends. Two words as opposed to one.’

  I’m helping him out here. I don’t know why. A little voice in my head says that I should be making this as difficult as possible for him.

  ‘That’s right! Anyway all the hotel’s booked and the flights and all of that and it’s only really a five day holiday, leaving on Sunday, coming back the following Saturday.’

  ‘Not long at all.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. Anyway, Danny asked me if I could help him out, because he doesn’t really…’

  ‘Want to go on holiday with a couple of girls?’

  ‘That’s it! That’s exactly it! So he asked if I wouldn’t mind taking Callum’s place. Like I said, it’s only for five days, really. Everything’s sorted out and the whole thing will only cost a little over three hundred quid, which is nothing. Do you mind, angel?’

  I’m trying to think of a response to this, but find I don’t have anything at all to say. I can feel my brain racing around trying to find some situation in the past that I can compare this to, but there’s nothing, nothing at all. Did he just call me ‘angel’?

  In desperation, I try to think of works of fiction or films or TV shows where a situation like this has occurred, but there’s no help there, either. What Mark has said sounds so reasonable and plausible that there’s no possible dramatic response. It’s not a bad thing and it’s not a good thing. It’s not nasty and it’s not nice. It’s just, well, there, like a neutral thing floating in the air, looking down at me like The Cheshire Cat, willing me to make some inappropriate girly comment.

  Mark looks at me and an expression of worry flashes across his features for about half a second. ‘So it’s just doing an old mate a favour, really. I’m sure he’d do the same for me if I was in a situation like that. You don’t mind, do you, sweetie? I mean, if I’m being honest, I could do with a bit of a break, a bit of a holiday. I’ve been working my balls off for the last three months since Gordon left. They still haven’t found a replacement for him and I’ve been splitting his classes with Laura Fearnsby – you’ve met Laura - and to be honest, it’s starting to wear me down a bit.’

  ‘I’m sure it is. You have been tired recently.’ I could elaborate on that last sentence, but I’m far too polite.

  ‘And I mean, we haven’t been able to go anywhere together, have we. Not for a while. It’s so difficult at the moment, the way your work’s going. But don’t worry, it’ll pick up, I’m sure. Then we can go somewhere nice, perhaps.’

  ‘That would be good.’ This is such a surreal conversation I’m beginning to wonder if someone spiked my coffee with horse tranquiliser or something similar. It’s one of those exchanges where it’s really hard work trying to think of what to say next and it seems like everything is happening in slow motion.

  ‘So, er, when are you going? What day? What time?’

  ‘Well the flight’s on Sunday at three-thirty, so it’s not for a long time yet. I just thought I’d chill tonight and do all my packing tomorrow. There’re a few things I’m going to have to buy. Perhaps we can go into town together and get them.’

  ‘Yes. Sure. In the morning or the afternoon?’

  Why did I ask that? Does it make any difference?

  ‘Morning’s probably better, I think. Don’t you?’

  ‘And when is the flight on Sunday?’

  I’ve already asked that. Get a grip. I mustn’t make a fuss. That would be so uncool. I’m still not sure how to react to this or how I’m taking it. It’s weird. It’s beyond my experience. I certainly feel a little strange and there’s a feeling like butterflies in my stomach. My mouth is dry. I start to feel tears in both eyes and blink them back.

  ‘Shall I make coffee?’

  ‘Lovely, sweetheart.’

  I go into the kitchen and prepare the coffee things. I had to get out of that room and away from Mark for a few moments. I have to compose myself. I’m aware that I’m frowning. As I’m spooning some coffee into the cafetieré, my hand slips and the coffee goes all over the surface and the floor.

  As I get a dustpan and brush to sweep it all away, I notice that I’m grinding my teeth together, which is something I never usually do. A few minutes later, I take a deep breath and take a tray back into the living room. I put a smile on my face even though I don’t really feel like smiling at the moment. I put the tray on the coffee table. Everything is still happening in slow motion.

  ‘That was a great Indian!’ I say, as if it was a normal Friday evening.

  ‘Yeah. That one’s really good. They went off for a while, didn’t they. Maybe they hired a new chef or something. Um – you don’t mind about this, do you? Me going to Greece, that is. I mean, it’s not even a week, really, as I said. Just five whole days and a day’s travel at either end. I just would feel bad if I let Danny down. You must tell me if you mind. If you don’t want me to go I won’t go, though I’ve more or less told Danny I would. But I can cancel the whole thing. I’ve got his mobile number. You don’t mind, do you, baby?’

  He reaches across and holds my hand. It must be Christmas. Did he just call me baby? I smile unconvincingly.

  ‘Of course not. I don’t mind at all. As you said, you have been working hard recently. It’d be a nice break for you.’ Mark spoons sugar into his coffee. He takes a great deal of time and care about it, as if he’s doing it for the first time. ‘What do Mark’s friends do?’ I’m scrutinising every square millimetre of his face, looking for…something.

  ‘The girls? I don’t know, to be honest. I think one of them works with Danny, but the other one I’m not sure about. She could be a friend of the one he works with. I’m not really sure. They’re just girls.’

  ‘Doesn’t Danny have a girlfriend at the moment?’

  ‘He didn’t mention it, but then again the conversation we had didn’t go that way. We talked about college, what people we knew were doing now and then he mentioned this holiday thing.’

  ‘What about Callum?’

  ‘Girlfriend? I have n
o idea. Don’t really know the guy.’

  If Callum did turn out to have a girlfriend, I’d suspect that it was her who pushed him off his bike and into A&E. Mark puts his arm around me and does that sincere look that I’ve come to know so well.

  ‘I wasn’t really that keen when he first mentioned it. I know we’d planned to do a couple of things next week when I was off, but I’ll make it up to you. We’ll do loads of stuff when I come back. Every weekend we’ll do something. It’s just that I don’t see my old friends that often and…’

  I give Mark a smile that’s meant to indicate that’s he’s justifying himself too much when there’s really, really no need to at all. This marvellous smile is also letting him know that he has no reason to feel guilty or do something marvellous every weekend for the foreseeable future. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, this is a very complex type of smile that not many people would be capable of mastering. I’m quite proud of this smile, to be honest. It’s a multi-purpose smile.

  Accompanying this smile, though, is a sort of semi-unintentional dead look in my eyes that is reminding him that we hadn’t just planned to do a couple of things next week; we’d planned to do about thirteen things, from what I can remember, and I’ve already paid for one of them…

  My voice is light and carefree.

  ‘There’s no problem. Really. It’ll give me a chance to get on with my work. With you out of the way I can work much longer hours. Might even start on that second canvas.’

  ‘That’s what I thought! That’s exactly why I thought it would be a good idea. I could get out of your hair for a while.’

  ‘I can really get my head down and focus on things.’

  It’s as if someone else is saying all these things for me. I can’t imagine who. I don’t like them very much, though.

  ‘That’s the spirit. Has what’s her name…’

  ‘Rhoda?’

  ‘That’s right. Has Rhoda got any plans for what you do next? Anywhere to sell them to? Anything like that?’

  ‘It doesn’t really work like that. Unless you’re some internationally renowned artist, you have to actually finish the work before your agent attempts to sell it.’

  ‘Oh. Shame. Well, you’ve still got the temping.’

  ‘Yes.’

  And so we talk and talk about anything except the elephant in the room and after a few hours or so, the whole Greek holiday thing seems to float away; like it’s something I saw on a TV show and somehow got confused with real life. But occasionally it come flying back and jabs me in the stomach to remind me that it’s real. I’m a solitary sort of person usually, but I suddenly think that I need someone to talk to about this. Get some sort of second opinion, because I think I’m so freaked that I don’t have an opinion at all.

  We go to bed and Mark is feeling frisky. After all, he says, we won’t see each other for a whole week. I fake it from beginning to end. I’ve got too many other things floating around my mind to concentrate on anything as mundane as sex. By that, I don’t mean that sex is mundane or that sex with Mark is mundane. Well, it can be sometimes. Maybe it isn’t mundane at all. I haven’t really discussed it with anyone else.

  I often worry about this. You’re out with a girlfriend (or girl friend, I’m not fussy) and you casually mention something about your sex life and she suddenly looks horrified. ‘My god, Chloe – you have the most appallingly mundane sex life. What are you doing with that guy? Are you insane?’

  Just before I fall asleep to the sound of Mark’s light snoring, I try and think of what two girls and two guys could get up to on holiday in a hot, sensual Mediterranean country like Greece. I’ve never been there so I can only imagine what it’s like. I have seen it on TV, though. Splashing around in the warm sea all day, sunbathing, visiting places of interest, sun tan oil, olive oil, exotic food washed down every evening with Retsina…

  And it’s all going to be platonic. Two guys, one in a relationship back home and two girls who are probably single. Maybe they’re not single. Maybe they would tell their boyfriends or husbands that they were going on holiday to Greece with a couple of blokes, one of whom they hadn’t even met yet. What would a husband or boyfriend say to that? ‘Sure. Enjoy yourself. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Here’s five hundred pounds spending money. Here’s another thousand - get a boob job. Are you packing that really skimpy extreme micro bikini? I’ll go and find it for you. You look great in that. I love you.’

  There are other alternatives, of course. The girls are single and want to work on their tan, get pissed up and have a well-deserved break from whatever. They might be hard-working secretaries or PAs. In the evening, they dress up and work their high heels, boobs and junk at some disco or other while Mark and Danny get completely hammered in the hotel bar and talk about old times or town planning. At the end of the evening, Danny falls in the hotel swimming pool fully dressed and Mark takes photos with his phone. They have a good laugh and that’s that. That would happen every night, obviously.

  That scenario would explain why Danny didn’t want to go on his own without Callum. Two girls with one guy doesn’t work except in porn films. But what happens if the girls don’t pull? For some reason, I’m imagining that they both look like sexed-up versions of Angelia Jolie. What if they’re plain and dumpy? Would that be better or worse? Supposing they go out on the pull and no one pulls them? They stagger back to the hotel at three a.m. reeking of Vod-Bombs and the only two available males are Mark and Danny, both too pissed to know what they’re doing any more.

  A few years ago, a friend of mine called Anna went on holiday to Tunisia for a few days with her best mate Wendy. Anna had affairs (polite term) with three different guys (separately, I think), but explained that it didn’t feel like she was being unfaithful to her bf Tim as he was really far away and it didn’t count. I’m sure Tim would have agreed wholeheartedly.

  My eyelids are getting heavy. Mark has always talked about us going on holiday somewhere hot. It hasn’t happened because of me, I suppose. He’s always insistent that we go Dutch on everything, even splitting that damned shopping list item by item so everything’s fair. We’ve never had a row about it or anything. Never even spoken about it to any great degree, but sometimes I think to myself that Mark would be better off with a richer girlfriend. Someone whose bank account he could respect. Someone who he could invest in things with.

  As I finally start to drop off to sleep I start thinking all sorts of stupid thoughts. You’re thirty-two, you’re a failed artist and your boyfriend is going on holiday to Greece with a couple of tarts and their pimp. You’ve always wanted to go to Greece, haven’t you? Go on – admit it. All that culture. You’re just jealous. You’re jealous of everybody. You are Mrs Jealous of Jealousyville. You’re even jealous of Danny. Danny Crump. Danny Crump and his bicycle pump. Top bloke, real laugh and town planner. Danny Crump’s embarrassing lump.

  Saturday 14th

  I wake up and, without opening my eyes, reach across for Mark, but he’s not there. This is unusual. On Saturday he lazes about in bed for as long as he can, while I do most of the tedious housework stuff. I check the time on my alarm clock. It’s 7.44. I can smell coffee and I can hear faint tapping on a computer keyboard. So he’s got up and made himself some coffee without making me one. Well, somehow I’m not surprised. I lie there for a while, staring at the ceiling, until my brain starts to function properly. I only had about half a bottle of wine last night, but that’s enough to give me a slight hangover. My tongue feels it’s made of leather.

  I swirl the concept of Mark’s Greek holiday around in my brain for a few seconds, to see if a night’s sleep will have given me a different perspective on the whole thing. It still feels slightly wrong, for some reason I can’t quite put my finger on. I try to put myself in a similar position.

  I meet Melissa, a friend from university, whom I haven’t seen for ages. She and her friend – we’ll call her Sue – are planning a holiday in Greece. There are two guys going with them, as
well. Unfortunately, Sue breaks her leg and can’t go. I bump into Melissa and she says hey! Why don’t you come! It’ll be fun! I agree and go home to tell my boyfriend that I’m going off on holiday with Melissa and her two man friends (or manfriends, if you prefer).

  The most reasonable, laid-back boyfriend in the universe would say ‘Hey! That’s great! Hope you have a great time! Enjoy yourself! Don’t worry about all the plans we’d made. Can’t wait to see you with an all-over tan.’ and he’d mean it.

  But most boyfriends wouldn’t take it like that, I suspect. In fact, the most reasonable, laid-back boyfriend in the universe sounds like a bit of a jerk, doesn’t he. Sounds like he doesn’t care about you or what you do one way or the other.

  I think a normal boyfriend’s jaw would hit the floor if you announced something like that.

  I get up and have a shower. Should I be nonchalant about the whole thing, or would that make it look like I don’t care about Mark or what he does? Who knows? I tell myself that it can’t be that bad. I’m just over-reacting. If anything suspicious was going on, Mark wouldn’t have mentioned it to me in the first place, or at least he wouldn’t have mentioned the girls. Wait. That doesn’t make sense. I’ll be seeing the other three when I drop him off at the airport tomorrow. I could hardly fail to notice that two of them were girls. And besides, he could hardly slip away for a week’s holiday without me noticing. Sorry – not a week – five days.

  My brain plainly isn’t working properly at the moment. I get out of the shower and dry myself off. Before I start to get dressed, I look at myself in the mirror. Not bad. Without meaning to seem like an egomaniac, I think I’d look pretty good in a skimpy bikini. Has Mark ever seen me in a skimpy bikini? I don’t think so. We’ve never been on that sort of holiday.

  After I’ve had breakfast and four cups of coffee to bring my leathery tongue back to life, I hear Mark calling for me.

  ‘Chloe? Come and have a look at this!’