Chapter Sixteen
My evening ended, as many evenings did, with a call from Esme.
As I walked towards the tube, having parted awkwardly from Olly in the lobby, she called me to give an impressionistic account of the interview.
By the end of our conversation, I had no idea whether Cali George was going to be my best professional friend ever or whether she’d done a number on us.
It sounded as though both Ajax and Esme had been irritatingly open with her.
‘It’s just…’ Esme was talking, talking, not missing a beat. ‘I think he got more words out there than me. And I keep trying to impress him, which is weird, no? I’m feeling a bit needy.’
I know the feeling, I thought, trying to recover my own equilibrium.
But another, more snarky part of my brain thought: no shit, Sherlock.
It had taken Esme’s therapist years to iron out some of that edge in her, the sense that there was something missing, that she wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t Ajax’s fault that it was creeping back – I’d heard her say similar things in the past – and hearing them again raised a familiar dread in me, a sense that we were heading into troubled times for her and for EKArts.
After I’d tried to reassure her, I hung up and messaged Chiara, Esme’s art dealer.
She sold Esme’s work internationally and had emailed me about the slowdown in Esme’s content over the last few days.
Esme would normally be creating shorts of artwork for YouTube and TikTok, but her love affair had put a halt to that.
It was starting to rain, the dark London streets reflecting car and streetlamp lights from their wet surfaces.
I walked with the phone to my ear, pulling up the collar of my wool coat.
When she answered, I took shelter under a shop awning.
‘Are you working out of hours now?’ I asked her.
‘Always on call,’ she said. ‘Not all superheroes wear capes.’
‘I thought work-life balance was your thing.’
‘Anything for you, though.’ She paused. ‘I saw a snippet of the press conference on TV. That was quite a spectacle, girl. Good news, though: we had an uptick in enquiries about Esme’s work the day after it aired. So no need to worry yet about her socials slowdown.’
I gave a ‘hah’. ‘Great. Have you spoken to Esme about it? This whole situation is having a major impact on her. I’m worried that if things go wrong, it will affect the business. I keep trying to find the right words to speak to her about it.’
‘Lizzy.’
I stopped at the note of firmness in her voice.
‘Yes?’
‘You can’t protect her from making mistakes in her personal life.’
She’d slipped out of her jovial tone into full seriousness, her change in tone alarming.
‘I know you steer the ship for Esme – Lord knows what she’d have done without you. But there is such a thing as caring too much, especially where work is involved. If EKArts goes to hell because she’s fallen for the most good-looking man on the internet, that’s her lookout, and it’s her business.’
‘No, it’s not, not really,’ I said. ‘You’ve seen the effort it’s taken for me to get the company on track. What if she jeopardises it? I’m just grateful the charity is separate and safe.’ I thought of Esme’s slightly stunned look over the past few days. ‘I’m worried about her.’
‘And I’m worried about you,’ she said. ‘It’s almost nine at night and you’re still focused on work. How are things?’
‘I’m fine!’ I insisted. ‘Have I not sent you enough memes recently?’ Memes were mainly what our relationship consisted of.
The last one I’d sent was of a dog lying in a hammock questioning the meaning of life.
I’d read somewhere that sending memes to people was the equivalent of a penguin giving a pebble to someone the penguin loved, so the process of sending memes had become known as ‘pebbling’.
So cute. I should definitely stick to pebbling and not conversations In Real Life.
I should also tell Pebble she needed to do the cat equivalent of pebbling and start giving me bite-size pieces of affection.
‘How’s your brother and your dad?’ Chiara said.
‘They’re fine. I’m fine.’
‘Good. Now, Lizzy. If Esme wants to fuck up, you have to let her. You’re not her mother, her sister, or even her friend. I understand why you are protective, but now you just need to let her do her thing. And if I’m honest…’
‘Please, do be honest,’ I quipped.
She paused. ‘I’d say cut your losses now.
You’re an intelligent woman and maybe you need to be doing interesting work rather than managing someone else’s personal drama.
’ There was a brief silence. ‘I deal with a lot of artists, Lizzy. They’re dramatic people.
The truth is, some people just live the same story – again and again, wearing out everyone around them.
Do not tell Esme I said this to you. She’d have my guts for garters. ’
A taxi ripped through a flooded gutter, and I pressed myself against the shop front to avoid being drenched. ‘Are you telling me I should leave my job?’ I said.
‘I don’t tell people to do things,’ she said.
‘No,’ I said. ‘You’re just a world class persuader.’
She laughed. ‘Only when it comes to getting them to spend money.’
‘I’ll take it under advisement,’ I said. ‘Thanks for the free therapy.’
‘Who said it was free? I’ll email my invoice, headed consulting fees,’ she said, the smile re-entering her voice. ‘But just think about it.’ Her tone was firm, serene.
As I hung up, the rain started to pour harder, and I waited beneath the shop awning for a moment’s grace to sprint into the tube station.
Chiara’s words repeated themselves in my mind like a song lyric stuck on repeat, sending my thoughts into uncertain places.
I’d always respected her straight talking, her clarity.
And yet… the idea of leaving EKArts. My resignation emails, drafted but never sent, acted as a pressure valve of sorts.
And I’d had plenty of professional offers.
But something was stopping me from doing it.
The money? Or Esme? Or the sense that somehow, I had to stay there or everything would go wrong for the business?
I shook off the thoughts running through my head as the rainfall softened and stopped, then dashed across the waterlogged pavement and down into the humidity of the tube.