Untouchable Things (8 page)

Pretentious
and
weird, thought Rebecca. Seth turned to her as if reading her mind. “This isn’t a group for everyone and some people might see us as a bunch of luvvies – though I doubt that would bother you.” Rebecca smiled. “But I like to think everyone here has a passion for the arts and believes there’s a bit more to life than the nine-to-five and
EastEnders
. That we can articulate our feelings about life and death and love and everything in the middle instead of sticking our fingers in our ears and pretending it’s not happening.” The room had gone quiet. The thread of magic that wrapped itself round Rebecca seemed to embrace them all.

“As far as I see it, the Friday Folly gives us two extra things we wouldn’t have if left to our own devices: a deadline and an audience. The deadline provides the kick up the arse we all need at times,” a ripple of acknowledgement, “and then showing our work in front of an audience makes it real, helps it to come to life – which of course you of all people understand.” She smiled and nodded. “And having dealt with cerebral matters we can then stuff ourselves with fine food and get extremely drunk.”

There was a release of laughter as Seth settled down on an ornate gold armchair that seemed to have been left for him. He leaned over the coffee table and opened the silver cigarette box. “Let me introduce you to the players. Charles is an architect with a divine bass voice. José is a graphic designer who may yet become a proper artist.”

“Hey!”

“I just think you’re good, that’s all. Michael is a teacher dedicated to relieving the misery of under-privileged hooligans through the gift of music.”

“Change the record, Seth.”

“He’s also our composer in residence. Anna, well why are you here, Anna?”

“For my supportive comments and pertinent feedback, darling.”

“Anna has somehow admitted herself to the group without any credentials except the ability to drink insane amounts of Guinness. Not that you’re a walking stereotype or anything, sweetheart.”

Anna smiled and gave him the finger. “As I keep saying to you, give the next one a dressing-up theme and I’d be happy to participate.”

“She would too. You should see her dressing-up box.” José put a finger to the side of his head. “Crazy.”

“And as I keep saying to you, my dear Anna, you are welcome to dress up for us any time. But, yes, I have taken your comments on board.” He looked back to Rebecca. “Continuing our role call, Jake, as you may have gathered, is taking a break from the stress of cooking for the rich and famous to tickle our culinary pallets.”

José turned to Rebecca. “In other words, he’s on the dole and can cook.”

Rebecca smiled, trying to keep up.

“And Catherine – what can I say?” What indeed? She had barely uttered a word. Rebecca struggled to see how she could fit with a group like this. All she seemed to do was flank Seth like a bodyguard.

“Well, you’ll see about Catherine later. It’s customary for her to round off proceedings. Now,” looking round, “who’s going to kick off?”

“Don’t forget yourself, Seth.”

“Sorry? Oh yes – I write. Poetry mainly. Some academic stuff. Now, Charles, why don’t you start for a change?”

Rebecca felt the mood of the room change as Charles and Michael got to their feet. People shifted round, snuggled in, practically rubbed their hands with glee. Seth lit his cigarette, leaned back and crossed his legs. For the first time there was silence. Michael took out a small guitar-type instrument that Rebecca recognised as a lute.

“Don’t even ask how I got hold of this.”

Charles cleared his throat. “In the spirit of the postcard we’ve gone for a 15th century bawdy lovesong.”

A smattering of appreciation, then Charles’ enormous bass voice filled the room with a surprisingly catchy, cheeky little ditty. Several times the audience erupted with laughter at the punchlines and Charles’ innocent
fa la las
. Rebecca had to admit it was a great performance. As she clapped she wondered at the bizarreness of life, that she was spending her Friday night in what looked like a 19th century drawing room surrounded by mad people with lutes and grand pianos. And it wasn’t just that she was having fun… she felt excited, curious, alive. She thought of the Italian restaurant and the conversation they’d had.
People like us. People who wring every last drop from life instead of running away from it.
Is that what she was doing?

José was next. “As you can imagine, I’m not really an expert on this week’s subject matter.”

Anna sliced through the sniggers: “I doubt many of the men in this room are, darling.” Rebecca noticed Michael tighten his lips and look away.

“But,” José was struggling to make himself heard above guffaws and wolf whistles, “I’ve done my own take on it. Here.” He put a piece of paper on Anna’s knee. She looked down for a second then laughed.

“Aw, that’s dead on. Look at this, Rebecca.” It was the first time Anna had addressed her directly, and Rebecca felt suddenly at ease as Anna leaned over to put the paper down on her knee. It was a drawing of a curled-up baby with a grown man’s features who seemed to be looking right up into her eyes. The title was
Lady, shall I lie in your lap?
The man-baby gazed at her with a mixture of neediness and suggestiveness – she found it hard to drag her eyes away.

“That’s great.” She looked down again and shivered. “And creepy.”

Charles laughed. “Let me see.” He frowned at the paper and Anna laughed.

“You’d have to be a woman to get this one, I’d say. Check it out, Catherine.”

Catherine reddened and took the picture hesitantly. “Yes, that’s definitely… different.” She smiled but sounded unsure.

Jake put out his hand. “Give us a butchers.” He was chewing gum and Rebecca noticed the glint of an earring in his left ear.

“A
butchers
?” José looked puzzled. Everyone laughed.

Seth put a hand on her arm. “He’s from Barcelona.”

“Really? Oh I love…” and then she got the
Fawlty Towers
reference.

José shook his head. “Siguenza actually, darling. Or near enough.”

Seth gave him a mock duff round the head. “But he’s still our resident Manuel.”

By now the rest of the room was vying to look at José’s picture. Anna said she wanted the ‘maby’ on her knee for the rest of the night. “Can you make me one for my next birthday?”

“You can have me instead, darling.” Jake put his head on Anna’s lap and batted his eyelashes up at her, still chewing gum. She gave him a quick stroke then shoved him away.

“Sorry, but you’re a bit
too
creepy.”

A drinks break was declared, and Rebecca succumbed to the pull of the red umbrella. She sipped her Screaming Orgasm carefully, reminding herself that cocktails tended to make her very drunk very fast. Jake asked her to hand round a tray of the first of his ‘themed culinary contributions’ to the evening, little oysters to slurp and swallow. He winked at her as he passed the tray. “We have mini ice cream cornets to lick for dessert. But I’m afraid the fish main course will make me unpopular.” Anna was on hand with a wooden spoon to field that one.

She found herself once more on the periphery of conversations she didn’t really understand and drew closer to the fire instead, admiring its white marble surrounds and carved green panels which complemented floor-length velvet curtains across the room. Anna joined her. “He’s chosen all the trimmings to match his eyes. See?” She waved her hand. “Curtains, cushion covers, piano stool. But this is my favourite.” She threw herself on a pale green chaise longue behind the circle of chairs and stuck her tongue out lewdly at Seth, who had stopped talking to Catherine and was looking over. “I’m all yours, darling.”

“Later, wench.” He grinned at Rebecca. “Whatever she’s telling you, just remember the Irish and their tall tales.”

After a while they settled down again. Seth put down his drink and turned to her. “As I said, Catherine tends to round things off in these groups, but tonight I’m using host’s prerogative to take that spot. So, over to you, Catherine.”

Catherine moved towards the piano, clutching some sheet music.

“Ah, so someone can play the piano.” Rebecca smiled, making an effort to be friendly.

Seth grinned. “Oh, she can play all right. You’ll see.”

Catherine shook her head as she fiddled with the stool. “Don’t get too excited. I really didn’t know what to do this week.”

“She always says this,” whispered José, seated next to her. Rebecca smiled, feeling much more a part of things. Hopefully it wasn’t just the cocktail.

“This may be familiar,” said Catherine, striking up a soft chord. It was slow and beautiful, and then the penny dropped. The theme to the Hamlet cigars advert, one of the few pieces of classical music Rebecca knew. A ripple of chuckles.

“I’ll name that tune in one.”

“Nice one, Catherine.”

The voices died away as the music continued. Rebecca noticed how much straighter and stronger Catherine looked at the piano, holding the attention of the room effortlessly. Before long she had forgotten the advert connection and closed her eyes, letting the delicate notes ripple over her. She could tell the piece wasn’t difficult but there was something in the way Catherine delivered it that made it completely spellbinding. There was clearly more to her than met the eye.

Warm applause as Catherine took her seat.

“Ah, the old Hair on a G String, always a winner.” Rebecca stared as Charles and Michael started chortling like a couple of school boys. Charles looked like he might be getting tipsy. She noticed Catherine shift ever so slightly away from him on the sofa.

“Follow that, as they say.” Seth was on his feet. “I know you’re all hungry and you’ll be glad to know I won’t take long. I was, let’s say, inspired to write poetry on today’s theme.”

“This should be good.” The mood had got a bit raucous now.

Seth looked at Rebecca. “It’s called
My Lady’s Pleasure
.”

Her heart throbbed as the room quietened and Seth’s voice softly filled the space, rising and falling with lingering cadences.

“
My lady lies a-waiting

Reclined on golden pillows,

Her ruby hair stretched out in waves

Where’re my fingers follow.

My lady lies a-sighing

With eyelids drawn for dreams,

The ruffles of her white lace gown

Cascading o’er her knees.

My lady lies a-gasping

With twisting bosom wild,

Her fingers spread to grasp the air

Her cry is like a child.

My lady lies a-weeping

Her head drawn into mine,

Our bodies merge in silent prayer

As distant noon bells chime.
”

As the last vibrations of his voice drifted away, Rebecca felt rooted to the spot, unable to look up. She had found it deeply erotic. Was ‘ruby hair’ a reference to her? Were the others wondering the same thing? A second of stillness gave way to whistles and murmurs of approval.

“Raunchy but restrained – like it, buddy.”

“Lucky lady is all I can say.”

“I thought the end was moving. Hmmmm.” Everyone laughed at José’s wistful voice and Rebecca started to relax; no one seemed to be thinking about ruby hair. But as she glanced to her left she caught Catherine watching her. The eye contact was blinked away immediately, and later Rebecca wondered what she had really seen.

What did it look like?

Hatred, I suppose.

Scene 11

I’m getting the impression that things changed in your group when Rebecca Laurence came on the scene?

It was twilight and the trees outside the window blackened. Catherine took her hands off the keys for a minute to watch the cityscape’s geometric certainty erode to shadows. Her favourite time of day. Or was it just that she was here, at Seth’s, with this piano and this view? In her little flat in Queen’s Park the drawing in of night could feel oppressive, frightening even. That London could squeeze the breath out of you. This London you could inhale like pure oxygen.

Could I ask where Seth Gardner was at the time?

Oh – sorry, he was out. At an auction.

He’d left you alone in his flat?

No, I’d let myself in. I had a key. He used to let me play the Steinway.

Did other people have a key to his flat?

No, not as far as I know. They do now. But at the time it was just me.

I see. Go on.

I didn’t abuse it, you know. I always checked first if it was okay. And I only played the piano.

Of course, Miss Jarret. Do go on. We were talking about Rebecca Laurence.

She continued sitting, treasuring the silence and the space. The sky was deep blue but not yet navy. Lights from the street were appearing like stars. If she were Michael she would paint the scene with music, but the idea of plucking notes at random panicked her. Other people’s music she could play, play well even, but she had no idea how to write her own.

She checked her watch: just gone seven. If Seth came back now he might find it strange that she was sitting here in the dark. But she felt rooted to the stool. She looked up and saw herself peeping over the music stand like a child. That bloody mirror. She hated the way she could see herself playing, still hadn’t learned to fully switch off from it. Mawkish and plain, poor little Jane.

She ran a hand through her drab bob and thought of Rebecca, the beautiful creature who had appeared on Friday, here in this room, all legs and hair and self-assurance.

Seth had seemed protective towards Rebecca, like he was with her. With Anna he bantered hard, flirted openly, but in a playful sort of way. With her, Catherine, he was different, softer. She had seen his eyes fill with tears as she played for him. He hugged her when she did things for him, sometimes stroked her hair.