Bookends

Chapter nine

‘I can’t wait to start decorating,’ Lucy groans eagerly, stepping into her professional painters’ dungarees, while George the carpenter looks at her as if she’s gone completely mad.

‘You’re not going to do it, are you, love?’ he says. ‘You’ll have to get some men in to do that. This is a huge job. Too much for you ladies.’

This immediately gets my goat, even though I know it’s only George being George, but nevertheless I speak up on Lucy’s behalf, telling them that they’re talking nonsense, and ladies such as ourselves would do a far better job than some big oafish blokes.

Sam the Spark – as we’ve come to know the electrician – smiles to himself without saying anything, as Lucy and I walk round inspecting their work.

‘I can’t believe it,’ Lucy says, stroking a single kitchen unit that is currently sitting in the middle of the café area. ‘Don’t you think it’s bizarre? How you left your job in the middle of June, when this place looked like nothing, and now, nearly two months later, it’s almost finished and you can see exactly how wonderful it’s going to be?’

We look around, at the low-halogen spotlights that instantly bring the appearance of bright daylight into the room, at the sleek modern counter in the centre, solid maple with glossy granite surfaces, from behind which Lucy will reign as queen of the cakes.

And now it’s almost done. The kitchen’s almost installed, the wiring’s done, the shelves have been sanded down and re-stained, and, as soon as the decorating’s finished, the floor will go down. It’s almost D-Day.

And it’s only now that everyone can start to enjoy it. Because it’s been hell. Everyone said it would be, but Lucy and I thought we knew better. The first set of builders we had turned up at seven o’clock every morning, on the dot, which we thought was pretty damn amazing. Until we realized that they were stopping for tea breaks every fifteen minutes, and that at lunchtime they were off for the rest of the day.

We tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. The pair of us started turning up every morning, always with a reason, but actually just to chivvy them along, to see if we could get them working. And that was the extraordinary thing, Lucy kept saying afterwards, amid much laughter and disbelief. There we were, their employers, and yet still, every fifteen minutes, the foreman would announce that they should down tools because it was time for tea. Did they think we were stupid, she asked in amazement, eyes wide. Well, yes, actually, they probably did, and quite frankly I’m not surprised. We were both so shocked that they had the audacity to do this when we were standing right there, that neither of us said anything.

But then Lucy found George. She’d asked his advice in Homebase, thinking that he looked like a man who knew what he was talking about. George not only turned out to be a fantastic chippy, he also had a team of people who worked with him, all of them reliable, hard-working and nice.

In short, George was a godsend – despite being the sort of man who believes that men are the hunters, and their primary job in life is to protect women, who should, incidentally, be feminine, giggly and completely hopeless at anything other than cooking, sewing and bringing up children.

George, naturally, adored Lucy, and, though he seemed to be slightly wary of me at first, he warmed up pretty quickly after I found myself succumbing to the helpless female act, because, stupid as this may sound, it was just easier and it meant he’d get the job done.

But Christ, did it get results. I have never met a harder worker than George. Lucy literally had to force him to stop for coffee by bringing in huge slabs of cake and delicious sandwiches every day, trying to tempt him to take a break.

‘I’ll just have a bite now,’ he’d say, carefully unwrapping it so as not to tear the tinfoil, ‘and I’ll save the rest for later.’

‘Lucy, you put my missus to shame, you do,’ he’d say, when he finished the mouthful, while Lucy briskly said he was talking nonsense, and she was sure that Mrs George was a wonderful cook.

And how do I feel about all this? I feel as if I’m walking around with constant butterflies in my stomach. I still can’t quite believe that it’s actually happening, and if anything I’m even more nervous now than when I left my job, but Lucy’s so reassuring, so calming, that I try to push the negative thoughts out of my head when they appear.

So today is the first D-Day, as Lucy put it. In other words, decorating day. Josh is turning up later, and even Si has invested in some decorators’ overalls to help out, but for now it’s just Lucy and I.

We wait until George and Sam have packed up and headed off to the pub for a well-earned drink, before tugging off the lids of the paint pots and starting to paint.

We work in silence for a while. Select FM is keeping us company, even though I’m tempted not to listen any more due to the ghastly Will, who seems to have slightly come between Si and I, if only by virtue of the fact that Si seems to spend all his time with Will.

I do feel incredibly selfish, disliking Will as much as I do, because surely I should be thrilled that Si has finally found someone, but I can’t shake the feeling that Will is going to hurt Si – particularly after that conversation with Alison – and he just deserves to find someone so much better. Luckily Si seems to have forgotten that I was going to get the dirt on Will from Alison, and I figure that as I’ve now got away with it for a month, the chances are I’ll get away with it for good.

After an hour my arm starts killing me. Lucy on the other hand seems to be thriving, and one wall’s almost done, so I keep my moans to myself, figuring that I’m not going to be the first to crack.

Two hours later I climb off the stepladder and stretch, grinning as Lucy does the same thing.

‘Cath?’ Lucy says, leaning her head on my shoulder. ‘Whose blasted idea was this?’

I start laughing. ‘Thank Christ,’ I say. ‘I thought I was the only one thinking this is a bloody nightmare.’

‘It’s not quite a nightmare,’ she sighs, ‘but it’s not half as much fun as it looks on the box.’

‘On the box?’

‘You know, all those adverts where young couples smile adoringly at one another while they’re decorating the nursery.’ Then Lucy starts to laugh. ‘Tell me I don’t look as bad as you.’

‘What? What’s wrong with the way I look?’

‘Go and look in the mirror.’ Lucy sternly orders me to the tiny loo off the stock room. I look like a slightly less soigné version of Cruella de Vil. In other words, my brown hair now has a sunshine yellow streak running along one side, about four inches thick. My face is splattered with tiny blobs of yellow paint, and there are smears of yellow on my forehead where I’ve obviously got some on my fingers, and without realizing have pushed my hair back.

In other words, I look a mess.

‘I see what you mean,’ I shout out to Lucy, who still looks as clean and shining as when she arrived. ‘I look like Big Bird gone wrong.’

‘Actually you look rather sweet,’ Lucy says. ‘Why don’t we have a break?’

‘I’ll tell you what.’ I reach for my purse. ‘I’ll go up the road to the takeaway and get a couple of coffees, how does that sound?’

‘You can’t go out like that!’ Cath says. ‘Even if you do look sweet. You stay here and I’ll go.’

‘Fine,’ I say, shrugging, and off she goes.

With nothing else to do, I pick up the paint roller and carry on, and don’t even turn around when I hear the door open five minutes later.

‘Just put mine on the table,’ I shout. ‘I’ll be down in a sec.’

‘No rush,’ says a voice that is definitely not Lucy’s. ‘I can see you’re busy.’

I turn round to see James standing there, although for a second I don’t quite recognize him because in the intervening weeks I’ve grown used to seeing him in the neighbourhood in his navy suit. Not that we’ve had time to chat – we’ve been far too busy for that – but we manage a wave and a grin through a window.

But now, in his weekend gear again, he looks like the boy next door. These clothes suit him far more than the suits. In the suits he somehow appears slightly uncomfortable, almost like a little boy playing at being an adult, although I know I shouldn’t be saying that, given that he’s five years older than me.

‘Is this a bad time?’ He’s already apologizing, backing out, thinking he’s made a mistake, but I clamber down the ladder telling him not to be ridiculous, we’re only painting.

‘I can see,’ he laughs, and I laugh with him, frankly not caring that I look like a dog’s dinner, although obviously, if I were interested, it would be a completely different story.

‘Anyway’ – I point my roller at him sternly – ‘you should be offering to help. You’d probably do a much better job than me.’

‘I doubt that,’ he says, ‘but I’d certainly do a cleaner one.’

‘Yes, well. I’m sure that wouldn’t be difficult.’ I peer at him closely because he seems to be carrying something in his right hand. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’

‘I walked past earlier and saw you both in here, and I remembered that I had something for the shop, so I thought I’d drop it in.’

‘For the shop? What is it?’

James hands over the package just as Lucy walks through the door.

‘James! How lovely to see you!’ She puts down the polystyrene cups of coffee and gives him a hug, which would normally surprise me, given that she hardly knows him, but it’s typical Lucy behaviour and only seems to faze James very slightly.

‘Oh damn!’ She looks at the two cups of coffee. ‘Let me run out and get another one for you.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ James says. ‘I’ll go.’

‘Are you sure?’

James nods.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But come straight back and we can all have some strudel together.’

‘Strudel?’ I look at her.

‘My latest try-out.’

I roll my eyes to the ceiling, wondering how on earth I’m going to manage to retain my voluptuous, yet normal size 14, when Lucy’s bringing in these delicious things all the time. And Christ, it’s only going to get worse. How am I going to resist?

Perhaps it will be as my friend Katy said: she used to love chocolate, but then she started to live with a man who was a confirmed chocaholic and kept gallons of the stuff all over the house. She swore blind that after the initial temptation she got so sick of bloody chocolate she never touched it. But then again, Katy is, and always has been, a size 10.

This is the last strudel I will eat, I tell myself, saliva already beginning to build at the very thought of Lucy’s delicate filo pastry and spiced apple filling. From tomorrow morning I’m turning over a new leaf.

‘So why is the handsome young James visiting our humble abode?’ Lucy says slyly, when he’s safely out of view.

I shrug.

‘Might it perhaps be that he has a little bit of a soft spot for the lovely Cath?’

‘You know what?’ I turn round and give Lucy my innocent wide-eyed look. ‘I think you’re absolutely right. Because what man wouldn’t adore me with canary-yellow paint all over my face?’ I give my head an expert Jerry Hall-style toss, thus causing the afro to vibrate very slightly. ‘Not to mention my gorgeous flowing locks.’

Lucy starts to laugh, stopping only when she notices the package on the table.

‘What’s this?’ she asks, picking it up to examine it more closely.

‘James brought it. It’s for the shop.’

‘For the shop? But this looks like a present. What on earth can it be?’ As she shakes the parcel James walks back in and Lucy drops it guiltily.

‘Caught me red-handed,’ she blushes. ‘I’m so sorry, James.’

‘Don’t be,’ he smiles. ‘It’s for you.’ He looks at Lucy and then at me as he says this and Lucy gives me a surreptitious wink. ‘Actually,’ James continues, ‘it’s really for the shop. But if you don’t like it then you must tell me.’

‘Go on, Cath,’ Lucy says, suddenly making herself very busy with a tin of paint. ‘You open it.’

I wipe the residue of wet paint from my hands on to my overalls and gently open the package to reveal a tiny painting in a simple wooden frame. It’s an incredibly delicate abstract watercolour, deep royal blues fading into turquoise, strips of colour criss-crossing one another, the layers built up until they shimmer richly from the paper.

‘This is beautiful,’ I say, because it truly is.

‘Are you sure?’ James cannot hide the look of relief on his face. ‘I just wanted to bring you something for the shop, a sort of good luck token if you like, and I thought the colours were very sunny, it reminds me of summer, so I thought you might like to put it up somewhere.’

Lucy puts down the paint pot and comes over, gasping when she sees the picture.

‘Goodness, how extraordinarily beautiful. What a stunning painting. But James, where on earth did you get it? You didn’t… It’s not yours…?’

But of course it is. And I have to say, I’m shocked. Shocked because I didn’t expect he’d be quite this talented? Well, yes, possibly. And shocked because this is such an incredibly kind thing to do. To bring a painting to people he hardly knows. To treat us as something other than just another business deal.

‘You really like it?’ James is now beaming.

‘We love it,’ Lucy says, and gives him a kiss, which means that I have to give him a kiss too, which is fine, except I’m not all that big on touching people I barely know. I’m not all that big on touching people I know very well, except for Si, Josh and Lucy, and that’s only because they’re so tactile themselves you can’t help it.

But I cast my inhibitions aside and give James a kiss on his left cheek, pulling away sharply afterwards because I do find these situations so awkward, but then Lucy thankfully breaks the ice by loudly ripping open the cover on the strudel and cutting each of us a huge slab.

‘It looks fantastic in here,’ James says, admiring our counter, our shelves, our etched glass windows. ‘Seriously. Even old Harry Roberts would be impressed.’

‘Now that is a compliment,’ Lucy laughs. ‘So James, given that you’re not just any old artist, but in fact a deeply talented and wonderful one, how would you feel if we had some paintings for the shop? We could give you a sort of mini-exhibition. What do you think?’

James looks thrilled as Lucy continues. ‘Look. We can’t promise anything, because it may not even be a viable idea, we really have to look at it from every angle, but even if we don’t display them in the shop I’d love to buy some for home.’

‘I’m astounded,’ James says. ‘And embarrassed. You must think I came here to try and wangle an exhibition, or somehow to make you feel obliged to buy my work I…’

Lucy cuts him off mid-sentence. ‘James,’ she says gently. ‘I am not a people pleaser. I am not a person who says things because she thinks it will make the other person happy, nor am I a person who offers things she cannot deliver because I want the other person to like me.’

James nods. ‘Okay.’

‘What I think is this,’ she says, while I’m slightly dumbfounded, because isn’t this the sort of decision that should be taken with a partner? Even though James’s work is, admittedly, beautiful, shouldn’t Lucy have waited until she and I had discussed it in private?

And what on earth is she thinking of when she says, ‘I think that Cath and I should come over this evening when we’ve finished and have a look at your work. How does that sound?’

James gulps. ‘This evening? Okay. Why not? Fine.’

‘Oh bugger!’ Lucy says immediately. ‘I can’t make it this evening. I have to go for dinner with some boring colleague of Josh’s. Oh damn. I completely forgot. Oh well, never mind, Cath, you don’t mind going by yourself do you?’

‘Mind? Why should I mind?’ I say. ‘I’ll just cancel the dinner party I was having.’

James looks completely stricken while Lucy lets out a snort. ‘She’s joking,’ she says. ‘She’ll see you at… seven?’

James nods, and I try to catch Lucy’s eye to let her know she’s about to get a severe bollocking, but she refuses to look at me, just chats animatedly to James about the plans for the shop until he gets up to leave.

‘What on earth were you doing?’ I’m completely bemused, and more than a little furious, because this is supposed to be a joint business venture, and what the hell is Lucy thinking of, offering him a show without discussing it with me first? Not to mention press-ganging me into going over there later, which I’m not happy about in the slightest.

‘What do you mean?’ she feigns innocence.

‘I mean, Lucy, and put that bloody roller down and look at me, I mean first of all you made a work decision without discussing it with me first, which I find hugely insulting, given that we’re supposed to be partners, and secondly,’ I stop to breathe, ‘secondly you then dumped me in it by saying that I could go and check out his work when I don’t want that responsibility all by myself, plus I felt that you were arranging my evening for me like I’m your errant daughter. You had absolutely no right to do that, plus, how do you know I don’t have plans?’

‘Do you?’

‘No, but that’s hardly the point.’

‘Darling Cath.’ Lucy comes over to me looking sad. ‘I’m sorry that I upset you, and I’m sorry that I didn’t discuss it with you but it was all spur of the moment.

‘I did tell the lovely James that it wasn’t written in stone, and that we may not go through with it, so I have provided a get-out clause, but I’m so sorry that I hurt you. It really wasn’t my intention to do so.’ She pauses and looks at the floor, scuffing the boards with her trainers like a naughty little girl. ‘But I can’t apologize for making you go there this evening,’ she says slowly, still looking at the floor.

I’m speechless. ‘What?’

‘Face it, Cath.’ She looks at me again and this time she’s grinning. ‘Not only is he gorgeous, but I’m sure he’s got a wee crush on you. I know you’d never give him the slightest hint of encouragement, and this was the only way I could think of to get the two of you together this evening. And I’ve heard he’s definitely not with anyone at the moment – apparently he was in a nine-year relationship that ended about a year ago.’

‘He doesn’t fancy me, and anyway,’ I mutter, although my anger suddenly seems to be disappearing, ‘you really didn’t need to go to all the trouble of plotting to get us together. He already invited me over for supper, and he meant it in a purely platonic way.’

‘I know he already invited you for supper, but that was weeks ago, and neither of you has done anything about it. I apologize for my intervention, but sometimes that’s the only way.’

‘God, you’re a nightmare,’ I say, shaking my head slowly. ‘What makes you suddenly think I need a man so badly? I’ve managed pretty well without one up until now.’ I sigh and look at her. ‘I must have been mad taking you on as a friend.’

‘What are you talking about?’ she grins. ‘You didn’t take me on. I chose you.’