Chapter 15
Fifteen
Leading portrait artist of his generation. Discussion point: what do his portraits tell us of the feminine idea of beauty? Image versus reality.
(Taken from Calliope Thorne’s teaching notes.)
Callie took a pint of water up to her room. She was hot and sand-sticky, but after a shower and a long, indulgent pamper session that included a desperately needed conditioning hair mask, she felt fresher.
The view from the window drew her so she stood, breathing it in. The sun, edging lower into the west, cast mellow golden shadows onto the rooftops and the sea was a dappled purple. She wished her mood was equally tranquil but couldn’t stop thinking about what Grace Grosvenor had talked about.
She hadn’t plans for this evening and was glad. She hadn’t stopped since getting here and was tired. A glass of wine and a fat bestseller beckoned. Padding back downstairs, she was relieved to find Johnny had gone out and she had the house to herself.
Grabbing a bottle of white, a glass and a family pack of Doritos she snuck back upstairs and shut the door.
For some reason she craved privacy. It was weird.
She liked Johnny. She liked him a lot. Couldn’t deny his attractiveness and envied and admired his worldliness.
But this evening she wanted to be alone.
Setting herself up on the chair in front of the open window she inhaled the gentle salty breeze, poured a glass and opened the crisps.
Finding her place in her book, she began to read.
Ten minutes later she slapped it shut in annoyance.
Unable to concentrate, she stared out of the window at the darkening blueness and let her thoughts drift.
Why had her parents been like that? Why had they painted their walls a dirty magnolia, unrelieved by even one colourful cheap print.
Why had they covered the sofa in plastic when they could easily afford to get it cleaned or replaced?
Why had her mother pounced avariciously on the yellow-ticketed items in the supermarket?
Why did her dad drive a meticulously maintained old car until it keeled over through exhaustion?
Why did they keep the curtains on the front windows resolutely closed at all times?
Why had they no friends, or hobbies, didn’t belong to any groups or clubs, scorned any overtures of friendship from neighbours and relatives?
Why had they allowed so little joy into their lives?
The carefulness and penny pinching she could understand if they were badly off, but they sat on a fortune taking no pleasure out of what it could give them.
She’d said to Johnny she believed in pursuing any opportunity that came along but that was more wish fulfilment than truth.
Yes, she tried to open up to as much as possible but, with a demanding job, a needy daughter and a mortgage to pay, she was limited as to how much she could actually do.
Mostly, her time was spent head down getting on with the everyday, dull minutia of life. Like everyone else she knew.
Her friend Donna had four children. She spent her life taxiing the older ones around to their hundreds of clubs and social events, and potty training the youngest. She knew Donna loved family life, but she also knew it didn’t leave much time or energy for herself.
Callie’s lips pursed as she sipped her wine.
In contrast, Donna’s husband, a lovely, devoted husband in many ways, never seemed to struggle to find the time for his thirty-mile cycle rides every Saturday. And did so apparently guilt-free.
Was it true men were more able to compartmentalise their lives into next little boxes: family time, hobby time, work?
Her thoughts strayed back to Johnny. His peripatetic lifestyle had only been possible because he’d stayed commitment free.
Could she have had a similar life, if Frida hadn’t come along?
The contrast between her life and Johnny’s seemed more acute the better she got to know him, and it was beginning to make her feel dull in comparison.
Callie loved her daughter with a fierceness that blazed and never regretted having her, but she often wondered what her life would have been had she not become pregnant so young.
But it wasn’t just that which preyed on her mind. There was something else too.
Discontent overwhelmed her, bitter and irrational. Reaching for her phone, she clicked on Donna’s number.
‘Callie, great to hear from you, babe. How are you doing in sunny Dorset?’
‘Have you got time to chat?’
‘Hold on a sec.’
Callie heard voices mumbling in the background, a teenager moaning sulkily and a wail from the toddler, all overridden by the deep voice of Donna’s husband. A clink of glass on bottle, the glugging of wine and a deep sigh followed.
‘All good,’ Donna said. ‘Graham’s doing the kids tonight to make up for disappearing with his men in Lycra all Saturday. Again. He owes me big time.’
Callie smiled. Perhaps she didn’t need to worry about her friend after all. She had her life sorted.
‘So, what gives, Cal? I have wine and am all ears for the next thirty minutes until Graham pings the Charlie Bigham fish pie.’
‘Do you think I’m influenced by my parents?’
She heard her friend take in a sharp breath. ‘Going right in with the heavy, Cal. What’s brought this on?’
Callie described Grace Grosvenor and how her amazing art career had been cut short by having children.
‘She’s got me thinking. I don’t regret having Frida, how could I?
’ She paused and then said what was really worrying her.
It came out all in a rush. ‘I’m beginning to think, having Frida so young and fixating on work and keeping a roof over our heads…
Well, I’m terrified it’s making me as careful as my parents are.
That my life is turning out as mind-numbingly tedious as theirs. ’
Donna chuckled. ‘Well, firstly, I don’t think there’s any comparison between you and your parents.
Mum always thought there was a bit of a mental health problem going on there.
How your parents lived – and still live – isn’t normal, Cal.
I don’t think you realised just how abnormal it was until you began coming over to my place. ’
Callie gulped some wine, giving herself time to answer.
It was rare that Donna was so honest. ‘You don’t know how grateful I am for what you all did for me.
How grateful I’ll always be. I don’t think I began properly living until I got to know you and your parents.
I thought how my mum and dad lived was totally normal. ’
‘Of course you did. But how could you think otherwise? We all of us grow up with what we think as normal because it’s normal for us.
It’s only when we branch out in life, see a bit of the world, that we find out every family has its own eccentricities and other people do things differently.
My family are the same. Graham can’t get over some of their quirks. ’
‘Just that my family had some extreme quirks.’
‘That they did, babe. Just as my poor little Alfie thinks it’s perfectly natural for him to go to bed at the same time as his three-year-old sister just so his old dad and me can have a five-minute breather, a glass of red and a ready meal.
’ Donna giggled. ‘Poor old sod. He’ll only find out once he gets to uni how wrong that is. ’
Callie giggled. Talking to Donna always set her right. ‘Not sure that’s a quirk, more of a survival tactic. How are the other two?’
‘No problem at all. Like all good teenagers they stay in their rooms, glued to their screens, only emerging for the odd snort and shuffle.’
Callie smiled. She knew Donna was exaggerating.
‘It sounds as if you’re really worried, Cal?’
Callie heard the clink of glass on glass again. Donna must be pouring herself another. ‘I’m beginning to realise how much it’s been nose to the grindstone all my life. All work, no joy, just to actually survive.’
‘But you live as well. You come to choir, go to the theatre. We go out for a drink when we can.’
‘I think I want more than that, Donna.’ Callie chewed her lip.
‘I think,’ she paused and then went on more decisively as the idea took hold, ‘I think I want a change of direction. A new beginning. I’m really terrified I’m going to end up like my parents, sitting on a thirty-year-old sofa which has been preserved with plastic–’
‘If you lived with a messy three-year-old you wouldn’t knock a plastic sofa cover.’
‘I know. I know. That’s not what I meant. Oh, I don’t know what I do mean. I just feel scratchy and unsettled. I want change but I’m terrified to make it happen.’
‘Well, there’s a lot to consider,’ Donna said thoughtfully. ‘Are you talking about giving up teaching?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You can’t do that without thinking through the consequences.
Eating is quite important for instance. How are you going to pay the mortgage?
And what about Frida? This Grace Grosvenor, she sounds a character, but life was different back in the sixties.
And I bet she came from a well-heeled background. ’
‘I think she did.’
‘So had the comfort of mummy and daddy’s money to fall back on, not to mention her wealthy husband.
And jobs were easier to pick up and drop back then; you knew there was another one in the pipeline.
I know Graham’s dad got through about fifteen jobs in his twenties before he settled on one.
We’re all a bit more constricted now. Can’t just give up a job cos there’s no guarantee you’ll walk into another one. ’
‘Yes.’ Callie tried to keep the defeat from her voice. It was the truth, but she didn’t want to hear it. She couldn’t give up teaching just like that. She had to be realistic.
‘Soz, babe. I lapsed into the speech I give the kids when they moan about their exams. I’m trying not to be the pushy parent but the sort of world they’ll inherit frightens the bejeezus out of me.
If you want my opinion, I don’t think for a minute you’ve been damaged by your parents.
You’ve coped brilliantly with what life has thrown at you, made of it what you can–’
‘Do I have any joy though?’ It was Callie’s turn to interrupt.
‘Of course you do! Is that what’s behind all this introspection?’
‘It’s just that my parents have no enjoyment in anything. Never opened up their life to anything new. I don’t want that for me and Frida.’
‘Rubbish. You’ve done the absolute best for Frida. Given her lots of joy.’
‘On a budget,’ Callie said, bitterly.
‘Like lots of parents, single and otherwise. And Frida’s not going to be around for ever, my love. She’ll spread her wings at some point. She already has in a way. I reckon this Ibiza holiday will be the making of her. Then maybe you can investigate your next adventure in life.’
‘Maybe it’s important that I learn how to live now?’
‘You do know how to live. You’re just like ninety-nine per cent of the rest of us, concentrating on emptying the dishwasher, doing the school run, paying the council tax.
’ Donna stopped to take a breath and then continued more kindly.
‘Look, I think you’ve had a shitty year at work and this is the first chance you’ve had to put your head over the parapet, have a look around and breathe.
Life’s busy, babe, but maybe it’s a good thing it doesn’t give us the luxury of time for navel-gazing. ’
‘You think I’m being self-indulgent?’
She heard Donna blow out a frustrated breath. ‘Maybe. A little. Look, you’re on holiday. Enjoy it. Drink some wine. Eat ice cream. Get some sun. Relax, love. And then come back to reality to–’
‘Pay the bills.’
There was a silence.
‘What’s the alternative, Cal?’
‘There isn’t one. You speak words of wisdom as ever.’ Even as Callie admitted her friend was right, a little shard of rebellion lodged in her heart. She wanted a different way of living. Wanted to break free. But how could she? And was she brave enough?
‘Got to go. I can hear Graham thundering down the stairs. We’ll speak again. Don’t do anything hasty, will you? Send me a postcard and I’ll treat you to a humungous glass of Chablis when you’re back. Love you.’
‘Love you, Donna,’ Callie said softly and clicked off the call.
She stared out to the now inky-blue velvet sky.
Was this it? Was this all she had to look forward to?
Work until into her late sixties at a job with which she was disenchanted and which was stressing her out, the odd break away, painting as a hobby?
What had Grace said? Make art your life force!
Callie refilled her wine glass and sipped some, feeling the cool liquid glide down her throat.
It was easier said than done. She had a life most people would envy.
A secure job. A roof over her head. A loving daughter.
Good friends. To change it would risk losing it all.
Did she want change that badly? She gulped down more wine.
But her life wasn’t enough. She now knew it wasn’t.
It just remained for her to be brave enough to do something about it. But had she the courage?
Her phone buzzed. A text from Frida.
All good here. Missing u mummy. F x
Callie stared at the mummy endearment in shock. Frida never reverted to the childish term unless something was very wrong.