Pearced (58 page)

I have three cats winding through my legs, rubbing their heads on my calves, claiming me and welcoming me home, and suddenly I feel myself again, sadder and thinner, but myself nonetheless. I’ll heal, the creatures will make certain of it.

Someone wants me, Pete calls, we're going out.

“You’re driving him crazy Tharie” Pete tells me sipping her wine, “James says he’s been mental since you left your key for him.  Broken James says,” she chews a delicate mouthful of leaves, her eyes bright and animated.  “He works and that’s it.” She skewers her salad with a jab from her fork.

I’m trying to eat, “you’ve seen James?” But I just push my food around in the deep curved ceramic, Conran dinner set, very nice indeed. “What else does he say?” I plead for any news, but try not to show it.

Pete puts down her glass, “Daniel has been hitting the gym, working all hours, not eating, hardly sleeping either.” She takes a bite of her salad, “...according to James.”

I haven't called or messaged Daniel once, I’m quite certain it's better that way, think I must have read that advise on Cosmo, when I didn't need the advice, and felt sorry for the girl who did.
I shake my head, “he still sees that woman.” I can’t bring myself to say her name.

“Jess?” But trust my friend will do, she looks at me and smiles.

“Yes, Jessica Stein, beauty Queen.” there I said it, rather spat it.

“James says she’s old news.”  She finishes chewing a leaf, “the family thought they would marry eventually, apparently Barbara thinks she’d be the perfect wife for Daniel” enjoying rubbing it in, because that’s what friends do.   She’s just trying to help me reach the conclusion everyone else has, get over him. But that’s not quite it is it?

“Wife?” I ask startled by the casual use of the word.

“Yes, but that’s when they split, Daniel didn’t see her that way.” She takes another forkful of Caesar salad, the dressing dripping down her chin, she wipes it daintily with the heavy linen napkin.

“Daniel, supposedly, told his Mum to go to hell when she pressurised them, they think she’s still trying to get them together.” She dabs he delicate lips again with the corner of a napkin. “Yes, they.” She looks at me over a fork full of dripping salad leaves, paused to her mouth.

“They?” I plead with my tone.

“James and Kurt, we went out last night, the four of us, expressly to get drunk and discuss you and Daniel” traitors the lot of you.

I can't hold back the smile, I love it that they are all so concerned about me, and clearly too shallow to think of anything else to talk about. “And, what conclusion did you come to?” I ask, sipping my water, mildly amused be her admission.

Pete just looks at me like she’s sorry, I’ve lost a place in the top six and the rosette.  Which let’s face it, hardly ever happens, and if it happened to you, you’d be pissed too.  True story.

“Am I
so
not his kind of people?” I ask sadly, “Barbara likes me I thought?” Not that I care, or I’m trying not to.  What would Mum say? She’d say: do what’s in your heart to do, other people, ignore them. “Why would she sabotage us?”

“She loves you,” Pete stabs the air with a bread stick, “just not as a daughter in law.” She crunches into the end. Blimey, I must be a sad case, Pete is eating carbs for me.

“And what does Daniel think about all this?” I take a spoonful of sun blushed tomato soup, not meeting her gaze, wishing the words hadn’t been spoken.  And I wince before I even hear her reply.

Pete lifts her eyes to meet mine, finishes chewing for added effect, “he has never been serious about anyone,” she takes a sip of wine, I am deflated to hear that.  “Until you Tharie, he is head over heels, and according to James, he is trying his best to help you see that.”

“Pete?” I ask her as we come out of the bistro, “Did you just give that waitress your number?” She is shameless.

“I have to keep my options open don’t I?” As she adjusts her black shiny hair. “Though, James is still my favourite.” she tells me with a wink, “
We might go away together again.” She tells me triumphantly. And her phone beeps for attention, and there he is.  “It's James,” she mouths to me as she answers, “Hello lovely boy.” Ahhh, Yuk!

We chat about nothing particular walking down Charlotte Street,  it's a clear blue sky day, I see Daniels black car idling by the curb, I stop and wonder if he’s sent Stan to check on me or give me a lift, but what I see sends me reeling down and down I’m not sure if I’ll ever crawl out.

Stan is holding the door open for Jess Stein.  Looking amazing and polished, wearing a camel and black Victoria Beckham pencil dress showing her figure to its best.  With huge Tom Ford shades and a tobacco brown Birkin bag resting casually across her forearm. She pauses when she sees me, looks at me over the top of her huge sunglasses, tilting them down her nose for added dramatic effect, smiles and gets in, speaking to Stan, my Stan, as she does so.

“Isn't that Jess Stein?” Pete asks me, then sees my face, “got it.” Is all she says.

I manage to get myself back to work, not sure how I got there the whole journey erased from my memory.

But I sit in my studio, with my phone in my hand wanting to do some damage, wanting to ask obvious questions, but what I actually do is just cry.

TC: “Mum, dinner? My treat” I’m not asking.

EC: “See you later then, I know when I’ve been summoned” true story.
“It isn't healthy Catharine,” my Mum tells me helping me to more pasta, “you need to eat properly, look how skinny you are.” I do look down at myself, and have to agree, and I do enjoy my Mums cooking, it’s
really
good.

“Harry and George will be happy about that.” Is all I can think of to say. I'll sleep well tonight.

Against all advice from people who love me I still can’t let it rest, it must be an ailment.

TC: “Saw Jess today” I try subtle.

DP: “Not that again” I fail

TC: “Getting into your car Daniel” that’s right, get it out I tell myself. Do you feel better now? Nope.

DP: “You’re point?” Evasion.

TC: “I have none” give up Tharie, you are defeated. Walk away, make some tea, though even tea has lost its taste, bloody hell, it’s
really
bad then.

DP: “Where are you?” A bone?

TC: “Studio” should I have told him that? Wasn't I warned against dating someone at work?  'Don't dip your pen in the company ink' wasn't it?

DP: “Wait there” hope? Should I allow myself that? Never expect anything from anyone, then you’ll never be disappointed. My Dad’s advice, sad, but true.

Daniel appears in my doorway, a wall of heat hits me he is so gorgeous, how am I to get over him?  He's designed just for me isn't he?  I have my coat on and my bag on my shoulder ready to leave for home, my chest tightens, he looks very good, if a little tired.

“Let’s stop this Tharie,” is all he says, running his fingers through his hair looking down at his feet, he sounds tired too.

“OK” is all I can manage, and grazing past him, he doesn't try to stop me, doesn't say another word, I head for the stairs and the sanctuary of the air outside, it’s dark but mild, I head home.

I’ll get tea at the station.

Chapter forty-two,
Monday
:
11thnovember2013 lost

Flattening down the fabric of my jersey pencil skirt, its hem at my calf, wearing my new cone heel cowboy boots and a peplum top I look at myself in the mirror, the tools of the last week visible although I do still have a slight tan, I am thinner than I should be and tired too. Automaton all morning, work, then I can really get back into my swing.  Daniel hasn't called, and neither have I, aren't we supposed to be grown-up?  Do we ever really grow-up?

The boys had noticed it as soon as I stepped out of the car yesterday, and this morning they come wandering over to say hello and ask where have I been?  Glad to be home I take another brain cleansing massive lungful of cold clean honest country air, wonder how my life is changing but all the important things are staying the same.  Feeling a little better, I decide to be a denim designer and head into town to do some work.  Yes, authentic, super soft, super lightweight, poly-twill denim, and I suddenly feel more like myself. It'll take a bit of getting used to, I think, but I can do it I’m sure of that.

Steffi managed it didn't she?  Well...not really.  Bloody hell.

I grab a Vogue alongside Horse&Rider, it's all about authentic denim and hoof-boots apparently, not much has changed there then I surmise.  I check my favourite denim blogs, and seeping through the seams my passion for jeans is awakening, returning me to the familiar, and enlivening me. 

Do my job, to be useful, the routine, the ritual, it's comforting.

I slide into the cold seat of my car, it's too old for heated seats, my breath's vapour fills the air instantly misting up my window.  I start my Landrover and it rattles heavily trying to heat up, and putting it into gear I drive, I feel slightly sick to my stomach suddenly, wheezy and short of breath. My head begins to swim, I stop the car because 'safety first', then suddenly I don’t seem to care where I am or what I’m doing, then total velvety nothingness.

I feel oddly calm, a little chilly, and supremely sedated.

I open my heavy eyes and it smells clean, sterile, the air tastes artificial, pre cleaned and filtered. I'm cold. Its gleaming white, too bright and I wince. I try my fingers and toes, all working.  Have I fallen off a horse?   It won’t be the first-time I’ve come around to the sound of fast retreating hoof beats with the bridle in my hand and mud on my jodhpurs.  But, not this time.

I move my head and instantly pay with a clap of steering pain rushing through inside. An injury? No, can't feel anything, my hand lands back down quickly and heavily with a smack, I don't seem to be able to channel any energy where I want it. I can tell my boots aren’t on, not a fall then,
what
?

I have an odd tingly pain across my ribs like a rib break but less localized. I can barely lift my head but force it and look down. I'm naked, and though my lenses can't focus yet I can see a dark shadow across my side, a large bruise? My head rushes with blood, and I have to lie back down, my breaths are shallow and raspy.

Where the fuck am I?

I hear a soft hissing from above me, a blast of cold vapour reaches my lungs and suddenly I don't care about anything any-more. Not even who’s feeding the horses. But of course I hope someone is.

I am cold, I shiver, I am awake.

I have my extremities back in play and can move my arms and legs. I swing carefully off the mattress I’m lying on and my bare feet hit the freezing floor, that helps waken me further.  Have I just been left here? And where the hell are my Marc Jacobs boots?

There's nothing to wrap around me, not even a sheet covers the bare ticking stripe of the mattress.  Neural pathways are clearing, like a city of traffic connecting through complex road schemes and calming measures. I've been here before, suddenly I look down at my body, I look thinner, how long? Can't go there, not enough information. Need input, need to know more.  A tattoo, its ink up my right side, still not fully focused but it looks like a huge bird and galloping horses, with symbols all worked beautifully around my body.  I turn my head quickly to where I know there's a door, remembering, though from this side it just looks like more white tile.

Think Tharie, try to focus your mind on something.

Sitting trot to H, long rein along the side and canter a ten metre circle.

I stand, unsteady but I know if I don't force myself to do it another mist of sedative will send me away again and I’ll be useless.  Escape, is now a firm plan.

George and Harry, I suddenly hope they're OK, cats look after themselves, how long have I been in here? A sudden wave of claustrophobia hits me, the room isn’t small but I can’t see sky or breathe natural air, so I’m trapped, and it's not making my brain happy at all.  What day is it?  Bloody hell, I've missed Dr Who.

I am standing, my head is a chaotic mess if noise and a rush of blood makes me swoon a little too, but the cell is bare and there's nothing but my own legs to keep me upright.

I stumble to the wall and bang my fist on it with what strength I can muster, it rattles, since it’s designed as an illusion not to be impenetrable, no subject would have known there is a door here, unless they'd been here before.  I shudder at the memory.  I bang my fist in sequence along where I remember the seam must be, and as my head clears I notice a slightly wider grout line in the tile so that's confirmed. One tile depresses slightly as a hiss of vaporous poison escapes from a vent high above, so I hurry, and the door slides sideways, and I stagger once more through Daniels wardrobe into the room beyond. Smelling his clothes as I pass, nice.

A tattoo has successfully embellished most of my right side from the jut of my hipbone to just under my breast and around to below my shoulder blade, don't think about that right now I chastise myself, get the fuck out of here.  I look desperately around for my clothes, what’s happened to them?  My gorgeous boots, last season's but still, can’t get another pair, bloody hell. Is that what’s important? No!! I will miss those boots though, soft buttery leather, beautiful little fringe along the back seam...stop it, focus.