think?’
I didn’t see why he would lie. Fury sprang up out of nowhere, crushed me like a lead weight. Saul had encouraged me to come here, without saying a word about how he’d pre-empted me and sabotaged my chances. I stared down at the dirt path, mortified, trying not to explode with defensive rage. This wasn’t an isolated incident: in my mind it acted as a magnet, attracting, like iron filings, memories of all the terrible moments in my life so far. Same horror, different incarnation. After what I’d been through, no bad feeling ever seemed new to me: I had already felt them all, recognised them like familiar relatives each time they paid a visit.
‘Sorry I bothered you,’ I said, starting to walk away.
‘Can’t take criticism very well, can you?’
His mocking tone made me want to kill him. If I hadn’t been furious with Saul, I wouldn’t have dared to do what I did next. Most of the word ‘courage’ is the word ‘rage’ —which book was that in? I turned and walked back to Aidan, counting my steps. ‘The essence of asking a conservation framer for a job is that it’s reversible,’ I said in a deliberately pompous voice. ‘You’ve got to be able to undo everything you do. I’m undoing asking you for work, and I’m undoing coming here at all. Goodbye.’
I ran back to my car, and this time he didn’t call after me. I slammed the door and sat in the driver’s seat, panting. I tried to brainwash myself: I’d been wrong about Aidan. I’d seen nothing in him, nothing at all. And I’d been wrong about Saul; I’d thought he cared about me, but he’d set me up for a fall.
Where else could I go? What could I do? Nothing that brought me into contact with pictures or artists, nothing in a gallery. The Spilling art world was too small; this latest humiliation had brought that home to me in the most painful way. If Saul had told Aidan, who else had he told? I could go to London, but then I’d have to give up my little house that I loved. Something told me that if I lost that, I’d lose everything.
I could get the sort of job anyone could get—serving fast food or cleaning toilets. Even as I had the thought, I knew I couldn’t. However much I needed money—and I did, urgently—I wasn’t the sort of person who would do anything to get it. I didn’t see any point in prolonging my life purely for the sake of it; if I wasn’t able to do something that mattered to me, I’d rather stop doing altogether.
I turned on the ignition, then turned it off again. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Probably the easiest way, I thought. After all, I had a car. I was in it now. If I had a length of rubber hose-pipe with me, I could do it right here, get it over with.
My mind started to wander aimlessly. Him and Her came into my thoughts, but for once there was no friction. I wondered idly if, by ending my life, I would alter the balance of blame between us. I was so tired of blame—of hoarding it all for myself, of giving it out. Someone else could take over the precise measurements, the minute calculations, that were necessary for its correct distribution.
A knocking sound near my head made me jump. My vision was blurred. I felt dizzy, and couldn’t see what was outside my car at first. Then I recognised Aidan; he was tapping on the window. Funny, I thought. I’d almost completely forgotten him in a few seconds; he’d drifted far away, along with the rest of the world I was preparing to leave. I ignored his knocking.
He pulled open the car door. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘You look terrible.’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Are you sick? Do you need help?’
I needed a drink. I’d eaten and drunk nothing all day; I’d been too nervous. I imagined a hot cup of tea, fizzy Coke, even flat Coke. I started to cry. How could I want to die and want flat Coke at the same time? ‘I’m a stupid fuckhead,’ I told Aidan.
‘You can talk me through your CV later,’ he said. ‘Look . . . you
I didn’t see why he would lie. Fury sprang up out of nowhere, crushed me like a lead weight. Saul had encouraged me to come here, without saying a word about how he’d pre-empted me and sabotaged my chances. I stared down at the dirt path, mortified, trying not to explode with defensive rage. This wasn’t an isolated incident: in my mind it acted as a magnet, attracting, like iron filings, memories of all the terrible moments in my life so far. Same horror, different incarnation. After what I’d been through, no bad feeling ever seemed new to me: I had already felt them all, recognised them like familiar relatives each time they paid a visit.
‘Sorry I bothered you,’ I said, starting to walk away.
‘Can’t take criticism very well, can you?’
His mocking tone made me want to kill him. If I hadn’t been furious with Saul, I wouldn’t have dared to do what I did next. Most of the word ‘courage’ is the word ‘rage’ —which book was that in? I turned and walked back to Aidan, counting my steps. ‘The essence of asking a conservation framer for a job is that it’s reversible,’ I said in a deliberately pompous voice. ‘You’ve got to be able to undo everything you do. I’m undoing asking you for work, and I’m undoing coming here at all. Goodbye.’
I ran back to my car, and this time he didn’t call after me. I slammed the door and sat in the driver’s seat, panting. I tried to brainwash myself: I’d been wrong about Aidan. I’d seen nothing in him, nothing at all. And I’d been wrong about Saul; I’d thought he cared about me, but he’d set me up for a fall.
Where else could I go? What could I do? Nothing that brought me into contact with pictures or artists, nothing in a gallery. The Spilling art world was too small; this latest humiliation had brought that home to me in the most painful way. If Saul had told Aidan, who else had he told? I could go to London, but then I’d have to give up my little house that I loved. Something told me that if I lost that, I’d lose everything.
I could get the sort of job anyone could get—serving fast food or cleaning toilets. Even as I had the thought, I knew I couldn’t. However much I needed money—and I did, urgently—I wasn’t the sort of person who would do anything to get it. I didn’t see any point in prolonging my life purely for the sake of it; if I wasn’t able to do something that mattered to me, I’d rather stop doing altogether.
I turned on the ignition, then turned it off again. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Probably the easiest way, I thought. After all, I had a car. I was in it now. If I had a length of rubber hose-pipe with me, I could do it right here, get it over with.
My mind started to wander aimlessly. Him and Her came into my thoughts, but for once there was no friction. I wondered idly if, by ending my life, I would alter the balance of blame between us. I was so tired of blame—of hoarding it all for myself, of giving it out. Someone else could take over the precise measurements, the minute calculations, that were necessary for its correct distribution.
A knocking sound near my head made me jump. My vision was blurred. I felt dizzy, and couldn’t see what was outside my car at first. Then I recognised Aidan; he was tapping on the window. Funny, I thought. I’d almost completely forgotten him in a few seconds; he’d drifted far away, along with the rest of the world I was preparing to leave. I ignored his knocking.
He pulled open the car door. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘You look terrible.’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Are you sick? Do you need help?’
I needed a drink. I’d eaten and drunk nothing all day; I’d been too nervous. I imagined a hot cup of tea, fizzy Coke, even flat Coke. I started to cry. How could I want to die and want flat Coke at the same time? ‘I’m a stupid fuckhead,’ I told Aidan.
‘You can talk me through your CV later,’ he said. ‘Look . . . you
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