The Surprise
I’d tried ceaselessly to get a response from Cassandra. I’d sent text after text, left messages, and she never returned a single one. Days went by, Christmas came and went, and still Cassandra never got back to me. She seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. I absolutely hated myself for what I’d done. I’d ruined her life and she could be destitute, alone, and starving at Christmas, for all I knew. And the whole mess could have been avoided if only I’d picked up the call that went to voicemail when I was ringing Launchester about Cassandra.
It had been the manufacture team leader asking why the courier had just delivered exact copies of my drawings. Had it been a mistake and should they return them? The team were already working on the first lot of designs that had been delivered by hand earlier.
‘Don’t keep beating yourself up, Magenta,’ Anthony said.
It was Christmas – the season of goodwill, peace on earth, and all that nonsense and I was as miserable as sin.
‘I just wish I knew what happened to her, that’s all.’
Anthony poured me a second glass of wine. He’d cooked a ham, I’d cooked a roast chicken, and we’d spent the afternoon peeling more vegetables than we could ever eat and allowing them to roast into oblivion. The gravy was fine, though. I got Father to talk me through the special one he made to accompany roast meat. There was a knack to making gravy with the juices of the roast without having to resort to using a gravy mix. The gravy was the best thing about the meal and neither of us ate an awful lot. Maybe we could make gravy sandwiches later.
‘Would you have preferred to have gone to your parents’ after all?’ Anthony asked when we were all out of conversation. Anthony and I ran out of conversation a lot. We were no longer angry or moody with each other but the atmosphere between us hadn’t quite gone back to normal.
I’d been looking forward to getting back the handbag samples. They would be finished after the holiday. I had so many ideas in the pipeline for the rebranding and it was the only thing I really spoke about with Anthony. Once that conversation had dried up then I’d ask how his painting was going.
‘Why don’t you come by the gallery some time?’ he asked me.
We’d finished eating and we’d moved over to the sofa, neither of us ready for dessert.
‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘You sure it’s okay with the gallery?’
‘I wouldn’t have said otherwise.’
‘Oh. Of course not. Right then, I will.’
The conversation ran dry for another few minutes.
‘Shall we see what’s on television?’ he asked.
‘Sure. Shall I open the chocolates Riley gave me?’
‘Why not.’
‘I’m really looking forward to seeing the sample bags,’ I said as a rerun of Casino Royale popped up on the screen. Neither of us were Bond fans but we let it play anyway.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Anthony. ‘I’ll come in and see them when they’re in.’
I very much doubted that he would and I very much doubted that I’d ask him to but such was the extent of the riveting conversations we had at the time.
When there was nothing else to say. I stared blankly at the screen, wishing I could go back to work and that the gallery would hurry up and reopen after the Christmas break.
A week of stilted conversation later and there was still no word from Cassandra. I popped in and out of work to tidy up some loose ends and Anthony began another project in his studio at the back of the house. He gruffed and grunted if I did something as simple as ask him how the painting was going, so I stopped asking.
‘Why aren’t you just having time off, Magenta?’ He was wiping off a brush when I got back in from Shearman after finding no more loose ends available to me. He dumped the brush onto the rickety old table covered in newspaper. As he walked in towards the kitchen we both tried to dodge out of the way of the other, swaying and staggering in the doorway as if we didn’t want to touch.
‘I’m making tea,’ he said.
‘Yes please.’ I sat at the table and watched him prepare two cups of tea. PG Tips for him and lemon and ginger for me. I looked up at a peeling patch on the only wall of the kitchen I never got to paint. ‘I never did get this kitchen finished did I?’
‘And quite right,’ said Anthony over his shoulder. ‘You shouldn’t have been doing so much anyway.’
‘When?’
‘Recently.’
‘As in when I was pregnant?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t have to. I know you think I was overdoing it. You think it was my fault don’t you? I wish you’d just come out and say it, Anthony. It’s been sitting between us like a time bomb.’
Anthony placed both cups of tea down with purpose on the table so that tea spilled out of each cup.
‘I’m not falling for this,’ he said flopping into a chair.
‘For what?’
‘You want to trap me into saying something I don’t mean. Why is it the only time we say more than two words to each other we end up fighting?’ he said squeezing his fist.
‘That’s not true.’
Anthony got up. I thought he was about to storm out but instead he knelt at my side and took both my hands, resting them on my knees.
‘It is, Magenta. It’s true. We argue all the time and I’m tired of it.’
‘But do you blame me? Do you think I was responsible? I really want to know.’
Anthony cupped my cheeks in his hands. I was blinking tears away. ‘It was no one’s fault,’ he said. ‘They told us on the day. One in four women, Magenta. That’s a pretty high number if you think about it. We just weren’t lucky and it’s not fair, and it isn’t right – I know that. I just … I just hate seeing you like this. But I really, really don’t blame you. I promise.’
We drank in silence. I didn’t want to talk about the miscarriage any more than Anthony did. It would break us, surely. So we didn’t speak at all. Anthony went back to his studio and I ran a bath. It was the night before New Year’s Eve. We’d turned down every party invitation and our little house in Chelsea was desperately quiet.
The next evening, New Year’s Eve, I sat reading with my feet up on my red sofa and my phone rang. I huffed, hoping it wasn’t someone doing their best to get me out. I already had excuses lined up but when I saw who was calling I was glad to pick up.
‘And vot are you two doing for New Year’s?’ It was Anya.
‘Nothing planned – how about you?’
‘Open the door and I’ll tell you.’
‘What?’ I exclaimed, leaping up and trying to spot Anya through the window. ‘You’re here?’
I opened the door and there was my best friend dressed from top to toe in a pink, shaggy Vivienne Westwood coat. It was vintage, probably circa 1970, and would no doubt fetch a fortune at auction if she hung on to it for long enough, especially as it was most likely given to her by the lady herself. Anya had her hair scraped into ponytail that appeared to be glittering. There was glitter over her eyes and down one side of her face. Her pale skin was made whiter by the ultra-dark lipstick she had on. Next to her and not noticeable at first was her boyfriend, Henry Bowser.
I stepped forward to hug Anya and she stood rigid in my embrace, making a kissing noise at the side of each of my cheeks. Her way of saying hello, I’ve missed you.
‘I didn’t expect you to be in London,’ I said standing back to let them in.
‘Hello, Magenta.’ Henry handed me a bottle of champagne.
‘Henry, it’s been ages,’ I said greeting him with a kiss, which he bettered with a warm hug and a kiss on each cheek. Anthony came down the stairs and the two of them shook hands. Anya patted Anthony on the shoulder.
‘Anya,’ he said with a nod. ‘You’re back already?’
We made our way into the living room and Anya untwirled herself from the coat. Underneath she wore a slinky black dress with glassy sequins on it. It reached the floor, had long sleeves, and a low-cut back.
‘Vell,’ Anya said. ‘I’m making a flying visit. The cast have all gone home. All of my scenes are shot and I’m free to party tonight. Then Henry and I are flying off to a Greek island for a good month or so before I have to go back to vork.’
‘And what about you, Henry? Can you afford to spend so much time off work?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘What’s the point in owning your own business if you can’t relax a bit and take time off with your loved ones?’
Anthony gave me a knowing look. ‘Are you going to open that?’ Anthony nodded to the bottle in my hand.
‘No, save it,’ said Anya. ‘Ve’re taking you two out for dinner and seeing in the new year together. Deal?’
I looked at Anthony. He was in a paint-splashed T-shirt, an old cardigan, and sweat pants. I was wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms and one of Anthony’s biggest and most baggy sweaters. My pink woolly socks were scrunched around my ankles and my hair looked as if I’d just been electrocuted.
‘What do you think?’ I asked him.
‘Um …’ he replied. I could tell he wanted to suggest that I go alone.
‘How long do we have to get ready?’ I asked before Anthony could back out.
‘Take as long as you like,’ said Anya. ‘But be ready in fifteen minutes.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Okay, make that tventy.’
Anthony and I returned to the living room, renewed, in a little under twenty minutes. Me in a little black, slinky number with high heels and Anthony in a clean shirt and dark jeans.
‘Let’s go,’ Anya said, sweeping an approving gaze over us both. ‘I know the owner of the restaurant. It’s a new place near Soho. So chic. You’ll love it.’
‘You mean you’ve eaten the food?’ asked Anthony, knowing full well that Anya sometimes went days without eating anything solid and when she did, the portions were bite size.
‘He has a great head chef – that’s all you need to know.’ Anya winked at me. I knew more than anyone that Anya thought she was in competition with every model in the business when it came to body image. She was convinced that no one in the industry seriously believed that women should have curves beyond a certain size. It was bad business to advocate anorexic-looking models as being the ideal but, as Anya said, ‘Look at the catvalks at all the major fashion shows and find me von top model who is bigger than a size 10.’ Anya was a five foot ten, size 8.
The chic restaurant in Soho was amazing. Italian food, which Anthony and I both adored.
Henry kissed Anya’s cheek and held her hand a lot of the time. She looked comfortable with his shows of affection and didn’t pull away. I even caught her stroking his chin and pecking his cheek, which was very passionate for Anya. All the while Anthony and I looked on or tried to look away.
I could count on one hand the number of times Anthony and I were openly affectionate since the miscarriage and while I missed his touch so very much, I found it extremely hard to make the first move. I constantly waited for Anthony to be the one to hug me or hold me, and when it didn’t happen I went out of my way to avoid him.
It sounds awful now but at the time I couldn’t let go of feeling angry with Anthony. It was an anger I just couldn’t explain. I only know that there were times I could punch his smiley face in the mornings when he was acting bright and breezy, as if nothing had happened. And although I knew I should have let it go – I just couldn’t.
Instead, there we were in the middle of an exclusive restaurant on New Year’s Eve, acting as if nothing was wrong. I loved Anthony with all my heart and I felt very sure he loved me but since the rows began, I don’t think we liked each other very much.
Next to the bar and over in the corner of the restaurant a DJ was setting up. Party poppers and tiny horns were being passed around by the staff and a buzz of excitement travelled around the restaurant as everyone geared up for the countdown to New Year. I wasn’t expecting any of it. I just thought we could have a quiet meal, shout, “Happy New Year” at midnight and go home. The new year had lots in store for me and I wanted the party season to be over so I could get back to work mode. I figured that Anthony and I would get our romantic mojo back eventually but I wasn’t in holiday mode and neither was he.
On the way back from the ladies’ I sat at the bar for a while, just to prolong having to watch Anya and Henry being so romantic and just to avoid making small talk with Anthony.
‘Vot on earth is wrong vith you and Anthony?’
Anya plonked her tipsy self beside me on a stool and hooked a long, bony arm around my shoulder.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked her. The barman came to ask what we wanted to drink but she waved him away.
‘I mean,’ she slurred, ‘this is my friend, Magenta Bright, the girl who has been in love vith her boss since the beginning of time.’
‘Ex-boss.’
‘And soon to become ex-boyfriend by the looks of things.’
‘Is that really how it looks?’
‘Madge. Ve both know that you and I are like chalk and cheese ven it comes to public shows of affection. I’ve never known you to be so distant vith Anthony.’ She shook her head. ‘I know how much you love the bones of that gorgeous man over there. Here ve are in a romantic restaurant, New Year’s Eve, you’re in a sexy dress, he’s got a hot body, and you haven’t looked at him vonce.’
‘That’s not true.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Did Henry and I valk in on an argument this evening?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Completely.’
‘Something is up, Madge – I can tell. You know you can talk to me.’
The barman handed us both a flute of champagne. ‘One minute to go,’ he said.
I glanced at my watch.
‘Every time I spoke to you, Madge, you said you vere fine. But now I don’t believe it. You look, I don’t know, not like you. Vork going okay?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Family?’
‘All good.’
‘So tell me, girlfriend, vot happened?’
‘Anya, I …’
Just then the whole restaurant shouted, ‘Happy New Year,’ in unison. The head waiter had been counting down the seconds and the whole place had joined in. Meanwhile, Anya and I were talking and missed the whole big build-up to midnight. All of a sudden, Henry was standing next to Anya, swinging her off the stool and kissing her. The DJ had put on a jazzy rendition of Auld Lang Syne and everyone was celebrating in one way or other.
I looked at my untouched flute of champagne on the bar in front of me and when I looked up at the mirror above the bar I saw Anthony’s reflection. He was a breath away from me. He touched my shoulder and I turned to face him, leaping from my chair and throwing my arms around him. He held me so close I thought I’d stop breathing and then he kissed me. He kissed me long and hard, a determined kind of kiss, a passionate one that made me forget I was in a crowded restaurant.
It might have been because of the awareness of celebration, the music the DJ had put on, and the excitement in the air but I threw down all the pent-up feelings of anger, sadness, and frustration. I sank into Anthony’s embrace and back to the night he and I first shared a kiss like that one. It was the day I knew I never wanted to be without him and in a split second I knew I mustn’t let my response to my sad news of weeks ago drive him away.
I opened my eyes, reluctantly. We had to come up for air. The look in Anthony’s eyes told me how much he loved me.
‘I missed you,’ he whispered. ‘Happy New Year.’
I nodded, blinking rapidly to stop the tears. I didn’t want to cry any more. I didn’t want to be angry any more. I felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Anya.
‘Happy New Year, darling,’ she said.
I reached to hug her. She actually hugged me back, her lips next to my ear, and I could just make out what she was saying now that the DJ had pumped up the music.
‘I take it everything is better now?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘It is,’ I said with a burst of enthusiasm. ‘We’re fine. Everything will be okay.’
She smiled before leaning across the bar to order some more champagne.
‘Let’s go and dance,’ she said as the barman lined up a fresh set of flutes and popped open a bottle of Bollinger.
Anya grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the small crowd of people jiggling in a drunken rhythm in front of the DJ. There wasn’t much room – it wasn’t as if this was a nightclub – but Anya made sure we’d worked our way through the dancers so that we were near to the turntables. She started waving her arms above her head, winding her narrow hips to the beat. I lost myself to the music too, dancing with complete abandon and feeling that Anthony and I had found a deeper understanding of each other.
I looked over and caught his eye. He was smiling. I tried to beckon him over to dance but he shook his head. It hit me that in the time we’d been together, Anthony and I had never had a proper dance together. We’d messed around, hugging each other while moving around to music on the radio when we were cooking, perhaps. But that was about it. I would have loved to have danced with him that night but I suspected that he and I hadn’t completely let go of the angst of the past month. We’d have to give it time. So, I didn’t insist. Instead, I just danced and danced with my best friend, making the most of the time I had with Anya before she disappeared again.
I wasn’t going to tell her about the miscarriage. I wasn’t going to tell anyone. I’d learn to live with that one day, too. Anthony and I both would, but I’d promised myself that I would make more of an effort to not be so distant with Anthony.
The restaurant owner did his best to get rid of people when the dancing became more hectic and almost everyone was up on their feet, jammed together in a small space, clearing tables out of the way when it was impossible to move. The owner didn’t succeed in throwing his customers out until well past one-thirty in the morning.
‘Ve should go,’ Anya whispered. ‘He doesn’t have a dancing licence and he doesn’t vont to be shut down after the first night.’
While Anya and Henry disappeared in a taxi – not to be seen again for months – Anthony and I held hands in the back seat of our taxi until it pulled up outside our little pink mews house. We spent a few awkward moments in the hallway wanting to kiss each other and then bumped noses when we went to take the initiative at the same time.
‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Anthony said. I smiled and took his hand.
It was a special night. We made love for the first time in absolute ages and didn’t surface from the bedroom for at least a day. Or maybe it was two. I wasn’t counting.