Fine Lines - SA (3 page)

"Wel , I haven't seen it al ," I hedged.

"Oh, there's Teresa," Anna said, looking beyond me. "She's the artist.

I'd better go and have a word. Would you like me to introduce you?" I could think of few things I would like less. But it would keep me close to Anna. "Yes, al right." The artist was a thin, intense young woman dressed completely in black.

Her eye make-up was almost as alarming as her art. For Anna's sake I did my best to sound encouraging without committing myself. Marty joined us a few moments later, and the evening reached a nadir when the young woman insisted on escorting us personal y around a selection of pieces, explaining her intentions and methods in stultifying detail.

But by then reaction to seeing Marty was beginning to set in, and I was glad the artist loved the sound of her own voice enough for me to keep mine to a minimum.

Eventual y, she went in search of other victims. I stood with Anna and Marty in front of a huge canvas that looked as though a child had smeared creme caramel on it.

"I think Teresa must be nervous," Anna said, after a moment. "She's not normal y as pushy as that."

"I suppose your first exhibition must be nerve-wracking," I said, for Anna's sake.

Marty studied the painting. "It's nerve-wracking enough having to look at it."

"Marty!" Anna tried to look severe.

He gave an apologetic shrug. "I'm sorry, but I might as wel be honest. I hate to say it, but I just don't think this is any good, that's al ." One hand went up to push back his glasses.

"What do you think, Donald?" I was annoyed at being put on the spot. "Wel , this sort of thing's not real y my cup of tea, anyway. I've never been fond of the abstract movement."

"Would you say it's wel done, though?" Anna asked. "I know you won't like it, but do you think there's ... wel , anything there?" I struggled to be diplomatic. "Wel , there's an obvious enthusiasm.

And it is only her first exhibition, but ..." I shied away from the criticism.

"But you don't think it's real y any good." Anna finished for me.

I sighed. "No, not real y. But that's only my opinion, of course."

"I know Teresa's an old friend and you don't want to hurt her feelings," Marty said, 'but you've got to admit this is a mistake. She should have stuck to doing portraits at Covent Garden. It might not have got her any reviews, but at least it made her money. She's wasting her time with this." Looking at the canvas in front of her, Anna reluctantly nodded. "Poor Teresa. She's put everything she's got into it, too."

"That doesn't say much for Teresa," Marty murmured. Anna gave him a little push and turned to me, smiling rueful y.

"I'm sorry for dragging you down here, Donald. I didn't realise it would be this bad." It stil sounded strange to hear her use my Christian name. "No need to apologise. I've enjoyed the experience, if not the art." Marty looked at his watch. "Wel , we've done our duty. I can't see any point in staying any longer, can you?" I felt a sudden emptiness at the thought of them leaving. I remembered I had not eaten, and wondered if I dare invite them out for dinner. But while I was trying to gather the courage to ask, the opportunity was lost.

"You don't mind if we go, do you?" Anna asked. "We haven't had a chance to eat yet, so we're going to get a pizza, or something." I smiled. "No, of course I don't mind."

I waited by the door while Anna made her excuses to the artist and Marty fetched their coats. Those few minutes alone were enough to turn my depression into a dul ache of outrage.

We went outside together.

There was nothing now to stop us from going our separate ways. Me to my solitary house, the two of them to whatever they had planned. And eventual y to bed.

"Would you like a lift?" I asked.

Anna shook her head. "No, it's okay, thanks."

"It's no trouble. It's too cold to be walking tonight."

"No, honestly, it's okay." She appealed to Marty. "We've not real y decided where we're going yet, have we?"

"No. There's stil a dispute about whether it's going to be Italian or Chinese. But thanks anyway." He held out his gloved hand, smiling.

"It's been nice meeting you." I shook it. They said goodnight and walked away. As I watched them go, I noticed that his feeble figure was no tal er than hers. He put his arm around her, and I felt a sour, leaden feeling in my gut. To think that she had given herself to such a pathetic creature was unbearable. The ful impact of my disappointment final y hit me. I drove home, imagining the two of them together. Now they wil be in a restaurant, I thought. Then, later: now they wil be home. And then: now they wil be naked. The images were as vivid as though I were watching, but this time unwelcomely so. I had a sudden vision of his body on hers, and quickly forced it from my mind. It was useless tormenting myself. Unworthy as Marty was, he was stil Anna's choice.

I could do nothing to change that.

I consoled myself with the thought that at least I was closer to her than I had been. Now the ice had been broken and I had seen her social y, I had something to build on. It was not much, but it was al I had. I would have to content myself with that.

It was only when even these crumbs were threatened to be taken from me that I felt compel ed to act.

I found out by accident. It was shortly after the exhibition. I was upstairs in the office, Anna was downstairs in the gal ery itself. I had no idea she was using the telephone until I picked up the office extension and heard her voice.

I did not intend to eavesdrop. But there was something seductive about being able to listen without her being aware of it. And once I had hesitated, I had no choice. They had not noticed the click when I lifted the receiver, but if they heard me set it back down they would know I had been on the other end. So I had to listen.

The gist of the conversation escaped me at first. Then Anna said, "I know it's a big step, but I want to go," and I became more alert. The word 'go' seemed fraught with dreadful connotations.

"So long as you're sure, that's al right," the other speaker, a girl, said. "But have you thought what'l happen if it doesn't work out? I know you won't like me saying it, but you haven't known each other that long, have you?"

"Oh, don't you start, Debbie. I've had al that from my parents. You know what my mum's like."

"Wel , for once I can see her point. I mean, I real y like Marty, but it's stil a massive risk, isn't it?"

"I know it is, but I've got to take it. It isn't as though I'm doing it lightly. Sometimes I'm petrified when I think about it, but I can't just stay here and let him go by himself, can I?"

"Couldn't you go over later?"

"What's the point? If I'm going I might as wel go with him. Why spend God knows how long apart, just until I'm sure I'm doing the right thing? There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" The other girl sighed. "I know. And I suppose I'd do exactly the same if I were you. I'm just jealous that it isn't me who's being whisked off to America." The room lurched. I tried to tel myself they might only be talking about Anna going on holiday, but then even that straw was snatched away.

"Have you told your boss yet?" the girl asked.

Anna's voice dropped lower. "No, not yet. It isn't for another couple of months, so I'l tel him nearer the time. We're going to need al the money we can get until I find a job over there, so I don't want him sacking me. I don't think he'l mind, but I daren't chance it." I closed my eyes. I wished I had never picked up the telephone. Anna was leaving. Going to America with that sad excuse for a man. Not only was he wasting her, now he was taking her away.

And she did not even dare tel me. I hardly heard the rest of the conversation. I had just enough presence of mind left to put the receiver down when it finished.

I sat there and tried to gather my wits, already feeling a sense of loss. And growing anger. This was Marty's fault. Anna would go to America with him, and I would never see her again. There was nothing I could do to prevent her: as poor as Marty was, I was a poorer rival.

It was the first time I had actual y thought of myself as such. But I realised now that that was what we were. Rivals. As the concept established itself in my mind I began to consider what advantages I had over him. It was painful y obvious that there was only one. His ignorance. Neither he nor Anna perceived me as a threat to their relationship. Until that moment I had never considered myself as one either. Now I knew I had to be.

The question was, what could I actual y do about it? Common sense told me that, by myself, the answer was very little. It was then I hit upon the idea of bringing in outside help.

Two days later I cal ed Zeppo.

The same night I met Zeppo I had a peculiar dream. Normal y I am a heavy and deep sleeper: if I have any dreams, as psychologists insist I must, I do not remember them. But this was extremely vivid. I was in the house I grew up in. I was lying on a sofa, and I presume I was a child, since everything in the room was much larger than it should be.

A fire was burning nearby, and I felt warm and comfortable. My mother was sitting with her back to me, brushing her hair in front of a mirror, and I lay there, peaceful and secure, watching it catch the glow from the fire with each stroke.

That was al . Or at least as much as I could remember. Why I should remember any of it at al I had no idea. There was nothing about it that seemed exceptional. But the memory of it stayed with me after I had shaved and breakfasted, and was stil on my mind as I drove to the gal ery.

I put my distraction down to that and my meeting with Zeppo the previous night. The traffic was moving slowly as I came into the centre of London, the usual crammed lanes of early morning vehicles. I approached a junction and passed through the traffic lights, and suddenly there was a crunching jolt.

I was rocked violently as the car came to a sudden stop. A Range Rover had run into my left wing. I barely had time to recover from the shock when the cars waiting behind me began blaring their horns. I glared up at the other driver, a woman, about to gesture for her to pul away and wait for me, when she did the same, gesticulating imperiously before backing her car off mine. The discrepancy in heights had prevented the bumpers from locking, and they separated with only a slight jar. She edged around in front of me and, once clear of the junction, pul ed into the side.

I had stal ed on the impact, and as I tried to restart the engine I found my hands were shaking. The clamour of car horns only made matters worse, and it took three attempts before the ignition caught.

A rasping, scraping noise came from my left wing as I pul ed to the kerb behind the Range Rover. I put on the hand brake and climbed angrily out. I was just formulating the first heated phrase when the woman slammed out of her car and preempted me.

"Are you blind? The bloody lights were on red!" I was taken aback by her accusation. I had not expected her to have the gal to accuse me of being in the wrong. "Yours may have been.

Mine were on green."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd been waiting for them to turn. You went straight through!" She looked at the side of her car. "Oh, just look at this! I've only just got it back from the garage, and now you've broken the bloody sidelight!"

"I've broken it?" I was almost speechless. "You were the one who ran into me!" I bent to examine the damage to my own car. The front of the left wing was dented down to the whee larch which was buckled against the tyre at one point. By comparison the Range Rover was hardly scratched.

"I want your number," the woman was saying. "Idiots like you shouldn't be al owed on the road. What if I'd had a child with mer?"

"Hopeful y it would have told you not to go through a red light!"

"Right!" She turned suddenly to the people who were walking past on the pavement. "Excuse me, did any of you see this man run into me?" Faces turned and stared. One or two people slowed, although none stopped. My cheeks burned. She appealed to an elderly man who was lingering more than the rest. "Did you see what happened? This man just ran through the lights and hit me as I was pul ing out. I need a witness."

"I only saw you pul in. Didn't see him hit you." This was ridiculous. "I didn't hit her! She hit me!" I looked around for a witness of my own. The traffic was flowing past steadily. The cars that had been behind me had disappeared.

"But didn't you see what actual y happened?" the woman persisted. The man had slowed to a stop. He shook his head doubtful y. Other people passed by with curious stares.

"He's already said he hasn't," I said.

"I'm not speaking to you, I'm speaking to him. Did you see him go through the red light? You must have done if you were walking past." The man shook his head and began to edge away. "No. No. Sorry."

"Just a minute," the woman cal ed after him, but he had turned his back and increased his pace, giving one last shake of his head to exempt himself from further involvement. "Oh, bloody typical!" She faced me again. "Al right, give me the name of your insurance company. I'm not going to stand here arguing with you. I'l have your name and address, too. We'l let them sort it." She flounced back to her car and rummaged in the dashboard. "Here." She scribbled her details on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I did likewise. "I just hope you have the decency to admit it was your fault after al this."

"I could say the same to I began, but she was not listening. The paper was snatched out of my hand.

"And on top of it al , now I'm bloody late," she snapped, climbing back into her car and slamming the door. I stepped back as she quickly cut into the traffic, forcing another car to stop to let her in. She ignored his irate rebuke on the horn and in seconds had disappeared among the stream of vehicles.

I went back to my car to reassess the damage. It was obvious even to me that it was not going anywhere. Fuming, I left a note in the windscreen for the benefit of traffic wardens, and went to a telephone to arrange for my garage to pick it up. Then I went to the pavement edge to hail a taxi.