Unsticky (77 page)
Authors: Sarah Manning
‘I’ll wait,’ Grace replied implacably, stepping right up to the threshold and not stopping so Piers had to move aside before Grace mowed him down. She brandished her Marc Jacobs bag, which was a perfect match for her tights. ‘I even brought something to read.’
Grace managed to get through another five chapters of
Kavalier & Clay
while she waited. Or she turned the pages and pretended not to notice that each member of the gallery staff found a reason to wander into Reception, stare at her like she was an apparition, then scurry away.
Kavalier & Clay
while she waited. Or she turned the pages and pretended not to notice that each member of the gallery staff found a reason to wander into Reception, stare at her like she was an apparition, then scurry away.
At six on the dot, Piers came hurrying down the stairs looking even more twitchy and flustered. ‘I’m really sorry, Grace, but he’s already left.’
Grace eyed Piers, then the stairs, which she hadn’t seen Vaughn tripping down. ‘No, he hasn’t.’
‘He went out the back,’ Piers said, his face florid because being the bearer of really bad news probably wasn’t on his job description.
‘You haven’t
got
an out the back,’ Grace reminded him, and then light dawned. ‘He went down the fire escape to avoid me? Well, that’s bloody great, isn’t it?’ She’d never felt more foolish in her life, even though there were plenty of examples to choose from.
got
an out the back,’ Grace reminded him, and then light dawned. ‘He went down the fire escape to avoid me? Well, that’s bloody great, isn’t it?’ She’d never felt more foolish in her life, even though there were plenty of examples to choose from.
‘He has got a dinner,’ Piers said helplessly.
Grace turned on him with unblinking eyes. ‘Where?’
‘You know I can’t tell you, Grace,’ Piers said carefully, like he suspected she was a heartbeat away from a truly monumental hissy fit and he didn’t want to trigger the explosion. ‘I could make you an appointment, but I’m afraid he’s really booked up . . .’
‘Yeah, and he couldn’t fit me in much before Christmas,’ Grace supplied.
She could feel all her bravado leaking away. She’d had two weeks to convince herself that she was a genius and everything was going to be all right, and with one quick scuttle down the fire escape, Vaughn had let her know that he never wanted to see her again. ‘It’s OK. I’m going.’
‘Did you want to leave a message?’
For a second, Grace contemplated handing over the envelope, but there was no point. Vaughn had made his feelings perfectly clear. She was never to darken his lobby again.
‘No, it’s OK.’ It was hard to make a dignified exit so Grace settled for leaving with a mid-level flounce.
She looked up and down the road carefully for a telltale sign of a big black car and when there wasn’t one, she turned left and started the long walk home. Walking to the
Skirt
offices and back to Nadja’s flat was another facet of her new economical lifestyle, but walking long distances wasn’t meant to be done in four-inch heels, especially when it was June and far too warm for opaque tights.
Skirt
offices and back to Nadja’s flat was another facet of her new economical lifestyle, but walking long distances wasn’t meant to be done in four-inch heels, especially when it was June and far too warm for opaque tights.
Grace arrived home a fretful, sweaty mess. As luck would have it, her arch nemeses, the day and night porters, were changing shifts, but Grace hurried past them with her head down, as one harsh word about abusing the rubbish chute or playing her radio too loud after 10.30 p.m. and she’d start crying.
She waited until she was safely inside her flat, sank to the floor and
then
she started crying. It was the first time since Paris and it wasn’t good to let it all out. It hurt - a physical, rib-aching, throat-throbbing ache that was no match for the pain in her heart because so much for big, dramatic gestures and newfound maturity and being optimistic for once in her sorry life. Vaughn wouldn’t even see her. They were so finished, that ‘finished’ ceased to have any meaning.
then
she started crying. It was the first time since Paris and it wasn’t good to let it all out. It hurt - a physical, rib-aching, throat-throbbing ache that was no match for the pain in her heart because so much for big, dramatic gestures and newfound maturity and being optimistic for once in her sorry life. Vaughn wouldn’t even see her. They were so finished, that ‘finished’ ceased to have any meaning.
Grace cried as she ran a bath. Cried as she towelled herself off. Cried as she tried to eat toast, then cried her way down a bottle of wine before she cried herself to sleep.
It was the deep sleep of the hopeless and Grace should have stayed that way until morning, possibly sleeping through her alarm and arriving at work with a tear-induced and alcohol-enabled headache. But she came to with a jolt a few scant hours later as someone buzzed on the door. Grace muttered, rolled over and went back to sleep as the buzzing started again and after a while was replaced by a sharp knock.
Grace attempted to get up from the airbed, which was always a tricky manoeuvre. In the end, she slid on to the floor and made her way upright from there, stumbling to the door with a tremulous, ‘Who is it?’
‘Miss Reeves? You have a visitor.’
Grace fumbled with the deadbolt and stuck her head out of the door, only to retreat immediately as she saw the night porter and a shadowy figure standing behind him.
‘This fellow says he knows you,’ the porter said, and for once he wasn’t sounding angry but concerned, like his duties included protecting his residents from potential rapists.
Grace pushed her hair out of her eyes and peered out again. Vaughn stepped forward and into the dim glow of the hall’s uplighters. His face looked so grim and unapproachable that Grace wanted to deny all knowledge of him, but she was opening the door a little wider. ‘He did . . . he does.’ She hesitated, long enough that the night porter bristled as if he was getting ready to come to Grace’s aid if Vaughn made any sudden movements.
‘I really don’t see why it’s necessary to go through this rigmarole,’ Vaughn drawled, and Grace understood why the porter was so chary. He was drunk. Or he’d had enough to drink that he was slurring his words slightly. ‘We can do this in the hall, Grace, but I think it would be better if you just let me in.’
‘Or you could just leave?’ the porter suggested, squaring his shoulders though he was twenty portly years older than Vaughn and Grace didn’t fancy his chances.
‘It’s all right, you can come in,’ she said quickly before they could throw down right there and then. She’d be evicted for sure.
Vaughn stalked through the door as Grace smiled apologetically at the porter, who beckoned her closer. ‘Any sign he’s going to get nasty, just press the star key on the intercom and I’ll be up in a flash,’ he whispered, one eye on Vaughn who was already in the living room.
‘Thanks,’ Grace whispered back. ‘It’s not at all what it looks like.’ She wasn’t sure exactly what it
did
look like - but it was probably nothing good.
did
look like - but it was probably nothing good.
He’d lost weight. That was the first thing Grace noticed when she hurried back into the lounge to see Vaughn eyeing her deckchairs and card-table with a curled lip. He’d gone past the rangy that he used to be and was heading towards gaunt. Gustav probably had him running for two hours every morning and eating nothing but protein bars.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, still standing with his back to her. ‘I know why you came to the office today and I’ll spare you the little speech you’ve rehearsed. Here. I can see you’ve found it hard to manage without it.’ He held out his hand and nestling there was her black Amex card.
The old Grace would have snatched it from him with some impassioned words about how he owed her. But Grace version 2.0 simply stood there and felt grateful that she was all cried out because otherwise tears would have started cascading down her cheeks at that very moment.
‘And what? You couldn’t see me without sneaking down the fire escape so you could have a stiff drink first?’ she hissed. ‘I was waiting for hours!’
Grace sank down heavily on one of the deckchairs. Vaughn was staring at her, his eyes travelling from head to toe and not missing a thing in between. If only he’d seen her six hours ago, all gussied up. Now her hair was sticking up because she’d gone to bed with it damp, and she was wearing pyjama bottoms adorned with skulls and crossbones and a ratty T-shirt. Still, she wasn’t wearing a bra and Vaughn’s gaze was now fixed on the shape of her breasts underneath the soft, thin cotton. He still wanted her, so that was something. Not much, but it was something.
‘Just take the card,’ he said mechanically, holding it out again.
‘I don’t want it,’ Grace protested. ‘That wasn’t why I came round to see you. Look, could you just sit down?’
‘You want me to sit on one of those?’ Vaughn asked sceptically, staring at the deckchair like he’d never seen one before. Then he lowered himself carefully down and looked surprised when it didn’t collapse under him. ‘What do you want, Grace?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I miss you. Have you missed me?’
‘You mean you missed my money,’ Vaughn corrected. He rapped his knuckles against the card-table. ‘I can see why.’
‘How can you think that all you meant to me was just a blank cheque? Why are you selling yourself so short?’
Vaughn didn’t reply. Just looked at Grace and then at the room with so much disdain that she decided this wasn’t her Vaughn, but his evil twin that Grace had never liked very much. For a second she wondered if she should abandon her plan altogether, or if she should just go for it. Because, really, what had she left to lose? ‘I’m not going to lie,’ she began, but Vaughn snorted derisively at that.
‘Why change the habits of a lifetime?’ he drawled, and he could stop acting so superior when he was sitting on a deckchair and he’d had to get pissed before he could come and see her.
‘I’m not going to lie,’ she repeated, glaring him furiously into silence. ‘I do miss your money. I miss getting chauffeured to work and I miss not having to look at the price tag before I buy something, and I even miss your poured resin floor.’ Vaughn’s lips twisted wryly but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Grace’s face. ‘But I have my own money now and this great place to live and work’s going OK, but everything just feels horrible without you. Worse than horrible. I can manage fine without you but I don’t want to—’
‘Grace - please . . .’ Vaughn dropped the disaffected air so he could put his elbows on the card-table and rub his eyes. ‘You were the one who left. It was your decision and your decision alone.’
‘
Have
you missed me though?’
Have
you missed me though?’
‘Yes.’ He made it sound as if Grace had dragged the confession from him with some electrodes and a pair of rusty pliers. ‘Of course I have. If you remember, I asked you to stay.’
Then Vaughn scraped his chair back and stood up, so he could loom over her again. Grace had even missed the looming, but not the withering stare.
‘Five minutes to get to the bloody point and then I’m leaving.’ Vaughn sounded like he meant it, but he couldn’t stop himself from freeing a strand of her hair that was tucked into the collar of her T-shirt. His fingers brushed against her neck for one fleeting, glorious second, and it was the final push Grace needed.
‘I’ve had a lot of time to think,’ she said. ‘And you’re not such a prize, you know? Like, you’re a divorcé and you used to be a drug addict, and you have a serious eating disorder. Plus you’re controlling and you’ve hurt me in ways I didn’t think I could be hurt.’
‘And why did you feel the sudden need to tell me this?’ Vaughn asked, his voice shaky, and Grace could see him swallowing compulsively as if nothing she was saying came as a surprise but he didn’t particularly like hearing it said out loud. ‘You’re far from perfect yourself.’
Grace nodded. ‘I know. I lie all the time. In fact, I lie so much that I have a hard job remembering what happened and what didn’t. I’m shallow and a neat freak, and sometimes I don’t actually think I’m that smart.’
Vaughn tilted his head. ‘You forgot to mention that you whine a lot and you’re the most passive-aggressive person I’ve ever met. Fine, we’re both thoroughly objectionable people, can I go now?’
‘We’re not objectionable,’ Grace contradicted. ‘We’re broken. It’s like we have all these jagged edges that scare other people off, but when we’re with each other, our jagged edges fit together and we’re almost whole.’ It had been a much better analogy when she’d just been thinking it in her head. But Vaughn wasn’t running for the door or telling her not to be stupid, he was still standing there and there was no good reason not to get up and take his hands. So she did.
‘Don’t,’ Vaughn murmured, but he didn’t pull away as Grace gripped his wrists tightly and felt his pulse positively galloping. ‘We had a good innings, but six months is just about my limit.’
‘So you let me have a month for free, then?’ Grace was getting a contact high from being this near to him, able to smell the faint citrus tang of his aftershave and the whisky he’d been drinking, could press her head against his chest to hear his heart beating. ‘And three months was all I ever normally got, but now I realise that three months was all I could deal with so I didn’t bother to put any effort in. And neither did you. You liked having your little arrangements because you thought you’d be safe that way. It meant you didn’t have to try, you could just give them money and cut your losses after six months because you were worried that they’d start to see the real you and they wouldn’t like him very much.’
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