1. 2
“Lily and I have taken a vow never to have babies,” Inga said.
It was true, we had, and every time I encountered a child like the distraught kid at the neighbouring table and it plunged me straight back into bleak memories, it was a decision that was reaffirmed for me. But what was Inga doing bringing it up when we’d only just met these guys?
“How did you guess we weren’t fortune tellers?” I asked Matt to change the subject.
He shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”
“Tell us about the real you,” urged Alex. “What do you paint?”
Inga was attacking her ice cream. “I don’t paint; I construct. Lily’s the painter. She will only paint seals at the moment, though.”
“Seals?” asked Alex, smiling.
“Yeah,” said Inga. “You know, big eyes, swim in the sea, look a bit like Labrador dogs? She’s totally obsessed with them. Seals swimming in the sea. Seals basking. Seals rolling on the sand. Cute seals. Scary seals. Seals, seals, seals.”
It was true; or at least it was for the moment. I didn’t expect to be painting pictures of seals forever.
“Why seals?” Matt asked.
I shook my head, unsure whether I’d be able to adequately put my fascination into words.
“Well, they live in the sea, and I’ve always loved paintings of the sea. There’s this one artist in particular I like—Joan Eardley. One of her sea paintings was in an exhibition here once, and I just stared at it for hours.”
It had been years ago now, but I could still remember the way I’d connected with that painting. Maybe the crashing, pulverising waves had felt like the storms I’d weathered in my own life, I don’t know. But as I stared at the painting, I imagined the life which might be living beneath the surface—creatures swimming effortlessly, in their element, safe from the storm.
“Anyway, I went to the North Norfolk coast for a walk a few months back, and there were hundreds of seals on the beach with their babies. Literally hundreds of them, and swarms of people coming to visit them, to go ooh and ah and take photos. Some had no clue. They thought they’d be able to go right down on the beach to get close to the poor things. That it would be okay to put their children on the seals’ backs to get a snap for their Instagram. There were these volunteer seal wardens there to stop them and to educate them about the seals. I volunteered myself the very next day. And when we had to take some injured pups to a rescue centre, I started to go and help out there too.”
“And you dragged me to that amusement park that time,” Inga added. “I thought we were there for the roller coasters, but no, it was the performing seals.”
“That was just sad,” I said, remembering. “Seals belong in the wild. Out in the ocean, not performing tricks for an audience. I love the way the ocean transforms them. I could watch them for hours.”
“We went swimming with fur seals when we were in New Zealand, didn’t we, Matt?” said Alex, and proceeded to transfix me by telling me all about it.
By the time he’d finished I was envious and filled with so many thoughts and feelings I could have gone straight home to paint. But judging by the way Alex was looking at me, I knew that wasn’t what he had in mind at all, and I decided that was fine by me. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me like that. A long time since I’d felt like responding. Painting could wait.
Across the restaurant, the little girl was still crying. My head was starting to ache, and it was getting harder to keep bad thoughts at bay. I glanced over. Saw the parents tiredly shovelling down their plates of pasta. The little boy with tomato paste from his pizza smeared all over his face and up his arms. The dad had given up trying to get his daughter interested in her food. If anyone knew what it was like to be powerless in the face of a child’s crying, it was me. But with the past crowding in on me, I was totally incapable of summoning a sympathetic smile.
It was time to go.
Alex and Matt had just about finished their meals. “Listen, does anyone fancy a walk by the river?” I asked, suddenly wanting to put as much distance between me and that very unhappy little girl as possible.
“It’s on the way to our flat,” added Inga. “We’ve got coffee. At least, I think we have, haven’t we, Lil?”
“Yes,” I said, managing a smile. “We’ve got coffee.”
“Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Half an hour later we were back home drinking coffee and looking at my latest seal painting.
“It’s beautiful, Lily,” Matt said, and I got a glow because I could tell he meant it. “Exactly what it was like when we were swimming with those seals in New Zealand. Isn’t it, Alex?”
Inga spoke quickly to Matt, before Alex could reply. “I’ve got a heap of etchings next door you can take a look at if you feel like it.”
“Sure,” Matt said with a grin, and they sloped off to her room, hand in hand.
Alex smiled at me. There was a pause. And when he asked, “What is it you like about seals?” I wondered if he was shy.
“You mean apart from their cute faces?”
“Yeah, apart from them being Labrador-puppy look-alikes.”
“Puppies with flippers.”
“And a strong liking for fish.”
We smiled at each other. I stroked my hand down the velvety nap of the sofa arm while I thought about how to put it into words.
“I love the ballet of their movement when they’re underwater. Their effortlessness and grace as they twist and turn. The contrast between that and the way they lollop along on the ground like giant slugs.”
“Giant slugs?”
“Yes. They have to bunch their bodies up and push themselves forwards. It looks so difficult to get along like that, and yet they still do it. That gives me hope, I think.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Hope about what?”
I shrugged. “About life, I suppose. Being an artist can feel like being a seal bunching itself along in the sand sometimes. You have to do work you hate, just to pay the bills. Walk to places because you can’t afford a car. Half the time all of that makes you so tired you haven’t got the energy to make art. But then there are times when everything comes together, and you’ve lost yourself in your art, and you’re like a seal who’s finally reached the waves and can suddenly really be itself. Twirl and spin and dive. Be fluid and free. It’s magical.”
That was what I’d been thinking about as I stared at the Joan Eardley seascape—about the freedom of swimming beneath those stormy waves. Of having the whole glorious unseen ocean to do what I liked with.
Alex looked at me, nodding, thinking about what I’d said. I wasn’t usually this open with people; certainly not when I’d only just met them, anyway. But Alex wasn’t smiling as if I were some dumbass idiot. He didn’t try to make a joke of it, and he wasn’t running out the door because I was this crazy, overly intense woman talking about seals and slugs and twirling in water instead of making out with him. So maybe it was okay to have opened up a bit.
I liked the pale blue of his eyes, like Wedgwood china. The way the overhead light picked out the shine of his hair, accentuating his cheekbones. Matt had dazzled me when we’d first met, but now that it was just me and Alex, I could see how attractive he was. And it really was nice to have someone so interested in what I had to say.
“D’you think you’re only really you when you’re creating? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, but that’s when I’m the most me.”
“What about with friends or with lovers? When you’re not pretending to be someone you’re not?”
I shifted slightly away from him, returning the conversation to safer ground. “Hey, you liked me being a fortune teller.”
“I never believed you were a fortune teller.”
“Come on, you so did.”
“Oh, all right, maybe for just a little while. But I’m glad you’re not. It must be so hard if you’re able to predict the future if you’re looking for love. You’d take hold of someone’s hand, and you’d know straightaway if it wasn’t going to last.”
“But I guess you’d also know straightaway if they were the one.”
“True, you might. Do you believe that, then? That there’s one person on the planet who’s right for you? Your other half?”
I shook my head. “Not really. People would never get together, would they? Mathematically speaking, it’s just not possible.”
“Well, if we’re talking about mathematics, what’s the probability of two guys going out to celebrate getting back from a trip round the world and meeting the girls of their dreams in the very first bar they go into?”
“Did your parents try to stop you from travelling?”
He put out a hand, laid it on the space between us on the sofa. “No. They weren’t very happy about it, but they didn’t try to stop me. They trusted Matt would look after me, I guess. They’ve always liked Matt.”
“Who was looking after Matt?”
“Matt doesn’t need looking after.”
I didn’t know Matt, but even so, I could sense it was true.
“Do you need looking after?” I asked him.
“No, not really. Not any more than anyone else, anyway. What about your parents? Did they support your decision to be an artist?”
It was a logical question. My fault for bringing up the subject of parents, I supposed. But certainly not a conversation for a first meeting. Or a second, or a third.
Maybe it was time to stop talking.
“I had the freedom to do what I wanted to do.”
Alex nodded, looking at me. I guessed he probably sensed there was more to my answer than I was prepared to share just then. He looked away from me, back at the seal painting. I looked, too, remembering the joy I’d felt painting it.
“So, I don’t suppose seal seduction techniques are very pretty?” he said, drawing me back, making me snort with laughter.
“Er ... no. The poor females are on the beach with their pups, and the bull seals want to mate before the pups are even weaned. They lollop towards them, fighting any rivals as they go, not caring about any babies that get in their way.” I shuddered. “It’s horrible.”
“A bit different to meeting in a bar, then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Me and Inga have come across some pretty bullish guys in our time. Guys who think they own a space, standing there with their chests puffed out, looking around for a girl to target. Squashed up next to you with their manspread thighs and their arm around the back of your chair. ‘Where’ve you been all my life, darlin’?’ One look at them and you know they’d be splashers in the water. Dive-bombers, not twirlers.”
Alex was grinning. “What’s your prediction about my swimming skills, then?”
I slid my hand across the space to entwine with his. “I’m not a fortune teller, remember? So, it’s more of a theory than a prediction.”
“Oh, yes?”
I nodded. “Mm-hmm. But I think someone who’s prepared to talk to me, to try to find out about the real me, is more likely to twirl than to lollop.”
He moved towards me, looking at my mouth. “Want to see if you’re right?”
“Okay, then,” I said, moving to kiss him.