A Girl's Best Friend

  ‘It’s not actually as cold as I thought it might be.’ I waded towards the side. ‘But I’d give it a miss if I were you.’

  ‘Good.’ She sat down on the bench and shoved her sunglasses onto the top of her head. ‘Because I wasn’t getting in anyway. I’d ask if you’re all right but you’ve clearly gone completely off-your-tits mental.’

  Knee deep in a lake, holding a miniature rubber duck with whom I’d just had an in-depth conversation about my philosophy on life, I shrugged, then climbed out with a wet splodge between my toes. My poor new Uggs.

  ‘Is it the pyjamas?’ I asked, sheepish as I sat down beside her. ‘Or the fact that I just destroyed brand-new two hundred dollar shoes?’

  ‘The shoes,’ she said, looking down at her own pyjamas. ‘The outfit is very next season – I should know, I run a fashion business.’

  ‘Oh yeah, congrats on that,’ I said. Bending down, I pulled off my boots and emptied out the grayish-green water. ‘I think I might have overreacted to the present.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ she said. ‘When a man sends me presents on Christmas Day I always nick off to the park and try to Virginia Woolf myself.’

  ‘I wasn’t topping myself’ I replied, presenting her with the duck in my pocket. ‘I was just rescuing my rubber duck.’

  ‘Makes perfect sense,’ Amy replied.

  ‘So, it turns out Nick sent me dozens of love letters that my mum didn’t think to mention,’ I added, taking my coffee and staring at the water as it soothed itself, as though I’d never been there. ‘So that’s nice.’

  ‘She is a terrible PA, remind me never to hire her,’ she said. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Completely,’ I nodded. ‘I suppose him treating me like a total moose makes a bit more sense now. Christ.’

  ‘A tiny bit,’ Amy acknowledged. ‘What are you going to do?’

  I shrugged and drank my coffee, letting it warm me up, all the way down to my cold, wet toes.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ she asked. ‘Honestly?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Charlie’s job offer is amazing and the sensible thing to do would be to take it, but I couldn’t take the job knowing he feels that way when I don’t. I feel guilty because I did but now I don’t. I feel like I’ve led him on.’

  ‘Regardless of whether or not you take the job, you’re still going to have to tell him how you feel,’ she said. ‘And he might not want to be your friend any more. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ I said. ‘And it’s not fair.’

  ‘Nope,’ she agreed. ‘But it is what it is. You’re not going to send all that food back though, are you?’

  ‘How much of it have you opened already?’ I asked.

  ‘Loads,’ she said, dropping her head onto my shoulder. ‘Most of it. And I licked some of it.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say to him,’ I said, stroking my camera case.

  ‘And what about Nick?’

  ‘I think he’s blocked my number,’ I said, my shoulders sagging and my feet squelching. ‘So that should be fine.’

  ‘You two need your heads knocking together,’ she said, producing a handful of contraband Quality Street from her pocket. ‘You’re in love with him, he’s in love with you, I don’t see what’s so difficult about it.’

  ‘I think that’s the point,’ I said, selecting the green triangle. ‘It shouldn’t be. So maybe it isn’t love?’

  ‘It’s only difficult because you’re both being total knob-heads about it,’ she reasoned. ‘I don’t know which of you is more mental.’

  The chocolate stuck to my teeth as I chewed thoughtfully. ‘I think it’s him.’

  ‘I might agree,’ Amy replied. ‘Had I not just found you knee deep in a lake, fishing for rubber ducks.’

  ‘Do you think I’m making a mistake?’ I asked, already knowing her answer. ‘Turning down Charlie and the job?’

  ‘No, I don’t. And neither do you. You’re panicking because things are changing,’ she said with complete certainty. ‘I know it’s scary but it doesn’t mean it’s bad. Christ, I’m more scared that things are going so well for me.’

  ‘So change is good and everything is better than it was?’ I flicked a leaf off my knee and watched it bob away on the water. ‘Awesome.’

  ‘I’ve got something that might cheer you up.’ She pulled a tiny blue box wrapped in white ribbon out of her coat pocket and held it out to me. ‘You didn’t open your Christmas present.’

  ‘Amy, you shouldn’t have.’ I took the box in my hands, almost too afraid to pull on the perfect bow. Even I knew where this was from.

  ‘Relax, it’s not a ring,’ she said, grinning underneath her sunglasses. ‘You always get me nice things for Christmas and birthdays and I’ve never been able to get you anything good before. I wanted to get you something to keep forever, to make up for all the shit presents.’

  ‘This is way too much.’ I opened the Tiffany & Co box carefully, lifting the lid to reveal a tiny white chain with a sparkling solitaire diamond pendant set against black velvet. ‘Amy, I got you boots.’

  ‘You got me a best friend,’ she corrected. ‘And I know they say diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but I reckon you’re better than a diamond. It’s like, this year has been so mental and I’ve got a funny feeling next year is only going to be worse. I wanted you to have something to remind you of me if we’re not together.’

  ‘And if things get really bad, I can sell it!’ I said, pulling it out and fastening it around my neck. It went perfectly with the pyjamas. ‘I love you, you daft mare.’

  ‘I should think so too,’ she said, taking a sip from her coffee cup. ‘I just gave you a diamond necklace.’

  We sat for a while, staring out over the water, just like we had when we were little girls. I’d assumed things would make more sense by the time we were looking down the barrel of thirty. How wrong could you be?

  ‘We can’t freak out every time things change,’ she said, yawning as she spoke. ‘No one can turn back time, you know, life only goes forward.’

  ‘This is unusually deep for you,’ I said, turning to look at my best friend, my soulmate. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I watched Eat Pray Love the other night,’ she explained. ‘I’d make the most of it if I were you.’

  ‘Noted,’ I replied checking the time on my phone. We needed to get back to the house. ‘Come on, Julia, it’s time for dinner.’

  Amy jumped up, slinging her bag over her head and hopping from foot to foot.

  ‘Good, I’m starving,’ she said, dragging me down the path, my Uggs squelching as I walked. ‘I hope there’s Yorkshire puddings.’

  ‘You might be struggling for that,’ I warned her. ‘But there is that bottle of Baileys in Charlie’s care package.’

  ‘There was a bottle of Bailey’s,’ she said, wincing and patting her belly. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Your own business and a drinking problem,’ I said with a sigh. ‘You’re so New York, Amy Smith.’

  ‘Right?’ she replied in her best American accent. ‘Now let’s get you back inside before you catch your death.’

  ‘And Yorkshire through and through,’ I added, weaving my arm through hers. ‘Thank God.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ‘This is so exciting,’ Amy whispered in my ear. ‘When will they tell everyone else to sod off home because you’ve won?’

  ‘I’m not sure it works like that,’ I said, nursing my untouched glass of red wine. ‘I don’t think they announce the winners tonight. This is more like opening night, I think.’

  ‘Well, when will you find out?’ Kekipi asked, looking disappointed. ‘Why did we bother coming if there’s no fireworks and giant cheque?’

  ‘Free bar?’ I suggested, smoothing down the sleeve of the new black silk Alice and Olivia dress he had fortunately given me for Christmas. I looked good enough, even if I didn’t feel it. ‘And so we can meet the people who decide who wins the apprenticeship
and butter them up.’

  ‘Point me in the right direction,’ Amy said. ‘You know I’ll do whatever it takes.’

  ‘And if he’s not interested in that, I can take one for the team,’ Kekipi promised. ‘Dom won’t be here for another hour or so, he’s picking up his suit for the wedding.’

  ‘You’re an inspiration,’ I told him. ‘Is Al still coming?’

  ‘Should be on his way,’ he said. ‘He knows it’s important to you.’

  I nodded, clicking my fingernails against the stem of my glass. It was a classy affair. String quartet, passed hors d’oeuvres, nice red wine in real glasses. Most of the women were wearing high heels and expensive handbags and everyone seemed to know everyone. I didn’t know a soul other than the two reprobates I’d brought along with me.

  ‘Where’s your photo?’ Amy picked the olive out of her martini and munched, looking around the stark white walls. ‘I can’t see it.’

  ‘There are loads of different categories,’ I said, folding my programme awkwardly with one hand. ‘I’m entered in the New Image prize which should be in gallery number three.’

  ‘And which gallery is this?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I’m not psychic.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Amy raised her eyebrows. ‘All right, madam, just asking.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered, looking around at the mass of New York’s tastefully dressed art lovers and then back at my best friend. More than three-quarters of the attendees were head to toe in black, myself and Kekipi included. Amy was as subtle as Amy was capable of being in a bright red, skintight AJB shift dress. Everyone looked at us as they passed by, putting me even more on edge. ‘I’m nervous, that’s all.’

  ‘You need more to drink,’ Amy advised. ‘Let me get you a cocktail.’

  ‘No, really.’ I waved at Angela and Jenny across the room. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ Kekipi replied. ‘I agree with Miss Amy. You need to relax and enjoy yourself. This is your first exhibition!’

  ‘I’m kind of amazed they accepted my photo,’ I admitted. ‘Do you think Al asked Delia to have a word?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ he said, pinching a crostini from a passing waitress. ‘Because I asked him and he said he hadn’t.’

  ‘Oh.’ I ignored my grumbling stomach. I was too nervous to eat, I had been all day. I had been all week. Between the exhibition, Charlie’s declaration of love, Nick’s phone, email and every possible social media channel blocking my every attempt at communication, I’d barely managed more than a piece of toast in the last three days. ‘OK.’

  ‘That’s a good thing,’ Kekipi explained. ‘You’re here because your photo is good. Not because Al called in a favour. You can be happy now.’

  ‘I am happy,’ I said, rattling my fingers against my glass again and giving him a big, fake smile. ‘See?’

  ‘Ecstatic,’ he replied. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Ladies!’ Angela, wearing a black-and-white stripy jumper with a huge sequined red love heart on the front and perfectly fitting leather jeans, zoomed in on me with kisses and hugs and clinking glasses. For a moment I wondered whether or not I could pull off leather jeans and then I returned to reality. ‘And gentlemen.’

  ‘Where?’ Kekipi replied, throwing air kisses over her shoulders. ‘Is he hot?’

  ‘The hottest,’ Jenny replied before giving me a quick hug, her black leather mini dress clinging to every curve. I wondered whether or not she and Angela had coordinated on purpose or if there was a cool leather dress code I’d missed. ‘So, where’s the photo? Are you excited?’

  ‘Ye-e-es,’ I said, still not sure. ‘I haven’t seen my picture yet.’

  ‘Then let’s go find it.’ Jenny grabbed my wrist and dragged me along behind her, barging through the assembled crowds. ‘Excuse me, coming through.’

  ‘She’s amazing,’ Amy breathed. ‘Where did you find her?’

  ‘You don’t find her, she finds you,’ Angela replied. ‘And then you hold on for dear life.’

  The five of us stalked through the gallery, until I spotted a tiny plaque by the entrance to an almost empty room.

  ‘That’s it,’ I pointed. ‘New Image prize. It’ll be in there.’

  ‘Tess, look!’ Amy ran ahead of us and right up to my picture. ‘This is amazing. Your name is on the wall next to it and everything!’

  She pulled out her phone, ignoring every sign that asked her not to, and snapped a photo of my photo.

  ‘It looks great,’ Angela said. ‘You must be really pleased with it.’

  The framing shop had done a beautiful job. The black wooden frame and stark white mount set off the bold image of James and Sadie. The colours were clear and bright and the lighting was perfect. It popped right off the wall. Very Ess.

  ‘I couldn’t have done it without you,’ I said to Angela, looking around at my competition. Nothing else was as bright or colourful as mine and I couldn’t work out if that was a good thing or not. ‘Really, I literally would not have this photo if it weren’t for you.’

  ‘The issue is out on the first.’ She smiled and squeezed my arm. ‘I’ll make sure you get one. I really was pleased with the photos.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, squinting at my photo. The more I looked at it, the less I liked it. I’d already found half a dozen things I wanted to change. It was weird; I was never insecure like this before and I didn’t like it one little bit. ‘Shall we go and have a look at the other galleries?’

  ‘No,’ Amy refused, taking a selfie of herself and Jenny throwing up gang signs next to my picture. ‘I want to look at every other photo in your category and tell you why it’s crap.’

  ‘You should be proud,’ Jenny said, raising a perfect eyebrow. ‘This is kickass.’

  ‘I am proud,’ I said. And I was. I just didn’t need to stare at my own photo all night. ‘But we should meet some people, shouldn’t we? Network?’

  ‘Oh, Angie!’ Jenny pressed a hand to her heart and smiled. ‘Look at my baby, she wants to network.’

  Angela rolled her eyes and looked down at her phone. ‘Another successful project,’ she told her friend. ‘I’ll be right back, I need to call Alex.’

  ‘I’m dry,’ Amy announced, turning her empty glass upside down. ‘Who wants a drink?’

  ‘I do,’ I said, quickly hiding my almost full glass on a little shelf behind me. What I really wanted was a minute to myself. ‘White wine if they’ve got any left.’

  ‘I’ll get something wet and in a glass,’ she called. ‘You diva, you.’

  As my friends drifted away, I turned back to my picture and stared. Maybe the colours were too bright. Maybe the focus was too sharp. And was it me, or did James look like he was faking that smile? Before I could leave, a crowd of people entered the gallery, swarming me into a corner. Trying my best to look casual, I stared intently at my neighbour’s entry, a black-and-white study of a glass-encased carousel, and gave them a polite, tight-lipped smile.

  ‘Tess Brookes?’

  I tensed at the sound of my name, looking around to see who was talking to me but there was no one. Instead, I saw two men peering at my photograph, one of them squinting at my name, printed on the wall beside my photo.

  ‘Represented by Veronica Wright,’ one said. ‘Have I met her?’

  ‘If you had met Veronica Wright, you’d know about it,’ the other replied. ‘Trust me.’

  Both of the men were older than me, one taller and one shorter. I held my breath and raised my empty glass to my lips, pretending to drink. There was no way they could know who I was but I suddenly felt as though I had a giant neon sign flashing above my head, screaming, ‘I Am Tess! Judge me!’ because that, I realized as soon as I saw their blue name badges, was exactly who they were. They were judging the Spencer prize.

  ‘Am I missing something?’ the tall man asked. ‘What am I looking at?’

  ‘I think it’s an advert for this dress,’ his colleague responded, tapping
a pen on the photograph and showing flagrant disregard for the no touching rule and my ego. ‘Sadie Nixon is hot.’

  Lifting his glasses to take a better close-up look, the tall man winced. ‘I’ve seen better pictures on Instagram. Did she take this on her phone?’

  ‘At least that would make it interesting,’ the other argued, shovelling crostini in his mouth while he hurled insults at my photograph. ‘The composition is nice. And the celebrity-friend angle almost distracted me from how derivative it is, which is impressive in its own way.’

  Thank God I hadn’t eaten, I would have almost certainly thrown up.

  ‘I don’t understand why it’s in here.’ The tall man screwed up his face, still staring at the photo while I dissolved into nothing behind him. ‘It has absolutely no artistic value. What’s the message? What’s the theme? Why isn’t it in the commercial gallery?’

  ‘It’s a shame, really,’ the short man nodded in agreement. ‘She obviously had resources the other entrants didn’t. A studio, professional models – but there’s nothing here. No honesty in it, no authenticity; there’s no value. She’s not telling me anything other than pretty people look pretty.’

  ‘Then maybe she’s actually cleverer than we thought,’ the first one laughed. ‘Maybe she’s the only photographer in here who’s being honest.’

  ‘And now I’m depressed.’ The short man shook his head and walked away, leaving the tall critic alone to stare at my work. ‘Did you see the landscape gallery? I think Dan Fraser has something new.’

  ‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ the tall man said. ‘I should look at the others. Who do you like?’

  ‘None of them,’ his friend replied. ‘But we’ve got to choose one, right?’

  The short man gave me a brief smile as he walked out, throwing a dirty napkin in the bin as he went. My feet felt like lead. It was one thing to think all those things about yourself but it was another to hear someone else say it out loud. Someone whose opinion really mattered. Was the photo really that bad?

  ‘Hello, there.’

  I looked up to see the tall man smiling at me, as if there was anything to smile about.