Chapter 30
Garfield had found her the flat, and she accepted it as it came, like a supermarket ready meal. It was lean and modern, all wood veneer, polyester upholstery, laminate flooring and solid surface kitchen worktops. Under the ceiling lights, everything had the same plastic sheen. Personal touches were few: a fluffy pink rug from the Old Times; a conch shell on the mantelpiece – a gift from a client; and three framed monochrome prints of her photos – a couple of car parks and the one of Sondra ascending the subway steps. The flat, she realised, was herself, once you peeled away the mask. Factory settings. Boilerplate woman. The pretence had become everything, and whatever was left of her held no more reality than an Ikea showroom.
It was Garfield’s fault that this had happened, but also hers. She’d fallen for his idea that she was a latter-day Scarlet Pimpernel, an elusive mistress of disguise. She’d been riding the anonymity wave for so many months now, living day to day, not thinking about herself as a person but only as a receptacle for other people’s desires. When you no longer existed to yourself, your emotional life went into perpetual hibernation. It had taken Dan’s reappearance to wake her up, and now, arriving home after her abortive trip to Enfield Register Office, she saw the flat with fresh eyes and realised she hated it at a profound level, and, by extension, hated herself for what she’d become.
She had to end this benumbed, twilight existence before she lost herself completely. Dan might be gone for good this time, but he had at least shown her that she remained a creature of needs. If she was to have any chance of finding love and fulfilment, she’d have to start living honestly again, and that meant resigning from Bluebird. She had some savings now and could go travelling, see the world, maybe teach English abroad. She’d talk to Garfield as soon as he returned from his holiday.
After the Register Office, she’d gone on a long and aimless walk around Enfield Town Park, followed by an equally long sojourn at Starbucks with the latest Danielle Steel, until they threw her out. It was now edging into evening, and Elaine felt justified in pouring herself a glass of white wine – no Pina Coladas these days, just Pinot Grigio. She slumped on the sofa, noting three voicemail messages on her phone. One of them was bound to be from Alex, asking for a postmortem on yesterday’s date, but clicking on the phone app, she saw that none of the numbers were from Bluebird. The first was from her mother – the one person from the Old Times she’d stayed in touch with; the second was from former client Rob; the third from Sondra. Since she’d already decided to resign, she no longer cared about preserving her privacy, but still it was worrying that Rob had tracked her down, despite the change of phone number. If she was leaving her job, she’d no longer have Bluebird’s protection from stalkers. The only crumb of comfort was that the call had been made during daylight hours. As for Sondra, it was nice of her to reach out, or perhaps not, if it was only to vent more hatred and abuse.
Bracing herself with a deep swig of wine, she listened to her mother’s message. “Hello Kay. Or Elaine if you really insist. It’s Barbara here. You are, as usual, out I see. No doubt on one of your mysterious assignments for MI6. Speaking of which, I went on their website the other day and found no mention of a Photographic Corps. I can’t imagine why it would be any more secret than their other activities. Anyway, I’m glad they’re keeping you busy, whatever it is you actually do for them. But it would be nice to see you one of these days. How about dinner at mine next Saturday? Oh, and I’ve also invited the Gregsons, along with their son, who’s studying dentistry. He’s single, so I understand. Of course I promise not to mention what you do for a living. Well, see you.”
Elaine had listened to this while lying on the sofa in a tense, contorted shape, like one of those agonized corpses from Pompeii. She cringed at the polite yet unmistakable scepticism in her mother’s voice about her career in photographic espionage, the constant probing at her cover story, the determination to prove Elaine a liar, a fraud and, most importantly, a failure, because for her it would be a disaster if Elaine were ever to succeed in anything, having so treacherously set her face against medicine. As for the set-up with the trainee dentist, this was bound to be another disaster – the men her mother introduced her to were invariably earnest, over-achieving dullards with bad breath, who broke out in a sweat whenever they came within five feet of a moderately attractive young woman. To put it another way, there was a good reason why they were single.
She turned to the message from Rob, another perpetual singleton, though for quite different reasons. His throaty, sexy, sleazy voice brought with it associations, both pleasant and distressing. But he sounded sober this time, even businesslike, which was promising. “Hey Jules. Sorry, I know I’m breaking the rules contacting you, and Bluebird are going to have my guts for garters, but this is actually about work? I was checking out your Flickr the other day and I’m seriously impressed. You clearly know your way around a camera. So anyways, it turns out I’m heading off on an assignment in Guatemala next week, photographing a new resort in El Paredón, and I could really do with an assistant – you know, someone to help with planning the shoot, setting up lights, doing meter readings, dealing with models, that sort of nonsense. I can’t promise it’ll all be glamorous, but the pay is good, and who knows, it might lead to future gigs. And listen Jules, I’m so sorry about all that shit before. I was not in a good place, not that that’s any excuse. But just so you know, I’ve cleaned myself up, kicked the booze and even got myself a girlfriend, Tamsin, who’ll hopefully be coming with us. So have a think about it, yeah? And let me know what you decide. I’ll need to know yay or nay by tomorrow night, so I’ve got time to line up someone else if you can’t do it. Alright babe. Speak soon. Bye.”
Elaine sat there open-mouthed for a full minute after the message ended, trembling with suppressed excitement. She was so glad she’d sent Rob a link to her Flickr account (the new one, under the sobriquet Mrs Robinson, not the long-defunct Kay one), and what a buzz to hear he liked her pictures. The timing of his offer couldn’t have been better – she could begin her post-Bluebird life with an actual job in photography, and in glamorous Guatemala, wherever that was. She wanted to call Rob now and say Yes! YES! Absolutely! –but decided to play it cool and wait till the morning, giving him the impression that she’d needed to sleep on it. Instead, she contented herself by looking up Guatemala on Google Maps. It turned out to be in Central America, and El Paredón was on the Pacific coast. The beaches on Google Images looked gorgeous. Even more gorgeous would be the look on her mother’s face when she explained to her exactly why she wouldn’t be able to make dinner next week. Emergency assignment in Guatemala, Mother. Codename Bluebird. Very hush hush.
The message from Sondra was the one she dreaded the most, having no desire to hear either dewy-eyed effusions about how beautiful the wedding had been, nor find herself on the receiving end of yet more invective about what a terrible person she was. It took two deep swigs of Pinot Grigio before she could bring herself to play it.
“Hello Kay. I hope you don’t mind me calling. I got your number from Dan. I just wanted to let you know that the ceremony went off very well, as did the photographs, and we’re now in the Rose & Crown in case you wanted to join us. I would like very much to see you again, if not tonight then some other time, and have a chance to catch up properly. I’m sorry about what I said earlier, outside the Register Office. I was so shocked to see you and I probably said some hurtful things. I would like, if possible, to try and understand what happened from your point of view and see if there is any way we can rebuild our friendship. However, I understand if you don’t want that...” There was a pause, during which Elaine heard muffled voices speaking. Then Sondra came back: “Dan and Jeremy both say they want you here. They say you owe them after standing them up a year ago. I’m just passing that on, in case you’re persuaded. Hope to see you soon. Bye.”
Elaine had long suspected she possessed subconscious masochistic tendencies, and this was confirmed when she found herself, a few minutes later, in front of her bedroom wardrobe surveying possible outfits. The notion of going to the Rose & Crown this evening was even less explicable than the impulse that drove her to the Register Office this afternoon. At least Dan hadn’t been married at that point and there was still a theoretical chance he’d choose not to go ahead with it. Going to the pub now held no prospect of happiness for her, only further misery and humiliation. She’d meet Elle who would no doubt prove to be utterly wonderful, clever and witty. She was a doctor after all, as well as a handywoman, culture vulture and cook. What a perfect daughter she’d have made for Barbara. She’d already walked off with the only man Elaine had ever loved, so maybe she could also take her mother, too, in some sort of package deal.
I will not dress to impress , Elaine told herself. I will not try to outshine Elle. She picked out a smart-looking black trouser suit with a silk blouse to express her new identity as a high-flying professional photographic assistant, then discarded that for a green tank top paired with jeans to show she didn’t care. In the end, she couldn’t help herself and opted for her little black cocktail dress.