Erin Kaye - The Art of Friendship

‘I have to exercise or I would get fat,’ argued Janice and then added quickly, changing the subject, ‘Now, Patsy, tell us all about the safari…’

Liam was still awake, reading a set of company accounts, when Clare got home. She threw herself on the mink-coloured bedspread beside him, fully clothed, her high-heeled boots still on her feet. The smile on Clare’s face had been fixed there for the last hour and a half. Her facial muscles ached with the effort and yet she could not stop grinning.

Liam looked up and smiled. His chest was bare; he never wore anything in bed, even now in the depths of winter. ‘Good night?’

‘The best! You will not believe what happened.’

Liam laid his papers to rest on the bedside table. ‘Tell me.’ Unusually, for a man, Liam took vicarious pleasure in the gossip she invariably brought back from a night out.

Clare threw herself onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and marvelled at her good fortune. ‘Something wonderful, Liam. Something absolutely wonderful.’ There was a pause. Clare turned her head to look at him. ‘Janice has just gone and offered me a studio to paint in. And – wait ‘til you hear the best bit – it’s completely rent-free.’

Liam frowned and said, ‘Really?’

‘I know, it’s amazing, isn’t it?’ She went on to explain all about Keith’s old office.

When she’d finished, Liam said, ‘That’s certainly a very generous offer.’

‘It is, isn’t it?’

‘You didn’t accept, of course.’

Immediately Clare felt her hackles rise. It was a win-win arrangement between friends. What on earth could go wrong? And what possible objection could Liam have to the proposal? She raised herself up on one elbow, facing him, and said, ‘Of course I accepted.’

Liam whistled air through his teeth and said, ‘I’m not sure we should, Clare.’

‘What do you mean, “we”?’ snapped Clare. ‘She offered the studio to me.’

‘But Keith doesn’t know a thing about it, does he? He might not agree.’

‘Janice wouldn’t have made the offer if she wasn’t sure he’d be okay about it.’

‘All the same, I don’t feel comfortable accepting it gratis.’

‘Well, I do. I can’t afford to pay for it and Janice knows that.’ Clare rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling again, her body hard with tension, her hands balled into fists at her sides. ‘Janice doesn’t want money, Liam. She certainly doesn’t need it. She wants to be part of what I’m doing. You should’ve seen her face. She was so pleased to be able to help me. It would’ve been downright churlish to say no.’

‘What exactly are you doing, Clare?’

Clare turned her head to look at him again, annoyed by his line of questioning. How many times had she talked about her dream? ‘I’ve told you,’ she said, narrowing her eyes. ‘I’m trying to establish myself as a painter.’

‘You mean more than a hobby, then?’

‘If all goes to plan, yes,’ said Clare patiently. ‘Patsy said my work’s as good as Sam MacLarnon, you know. But I can’t sell paintings unless I’m producing them, and I can’t produce them without a decent place to work.’ Clare paused for a moment and said, ‘Why are you asking me these questions, Liam, when you know the answers already?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Clare.’ Liam paused, lowering his voice. ‘But how are you planning to find the time to do this? With Rachel and Josh to look after, and the house to run as well, you’re run off your feet as it is. I can’t see how you’ll have the time to paint.’

‘Mmm…’ said Clare and she wrinkled her nose in the face of this rather unpalatable truth and stared at the headboard. ‘I guess I’ll have to work evenings and put the kids into nursery a few mornings a week. Or with a childminder.’

‘Expensive,’ said Liam, ever the accountant.

‘I know. And it would be a leap of faith. But we’d have to look at it as an investment. Once my paintings start selling I’ll recoup the costs.’

‘It’s not only the expense,’ said Liam, in not much more than a whisper.

‘You don’t want me to do it because of the effect it’ll have on your life, do you?’

‘It’s not my life I’m worried about, Clare. It’s the kids’.’

Clare turned her gaze on him again, her anger now abating to be replaced with anxiety. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I don’t want strangers looking after my children,’ he said and gave her a hard stare. His right eyelid twitched involuntarily. ‘I thought we agreed this when you gave up work. That you would stay at home with the children at least until they were both at school.’

Clare bit her lip and looked away. He was right. That was what they had agreed. But he wasn’t the one who’d given up a good job as Arts Officer for the local council to stay at home and play earth mother. And if truth be told, had she known what was involved in being a full-time mother to two under fives, she never would’ve agreed to it. She would’ve kept on working, at least part-time. And she would’ve definitely kept on painting.

‘Izzy was practically raised by childminders,’ went on Liam, in the face of her silence. ‘I don’t want that for Rachel and Josh.’

‘Neither do I. But I’m only talking about a few sessions a week. And things change, Liam. It’s time for me to be thinking about going back to work. And, if you think about it, painting is perfect. I can be my own boss and I can fit it round the family. This is my big break and I don’t want to fluff it.’

‘You’re talking it up, Clare. All that’s happened is that Janice has offered you an old office to work in rent-free. That same offer would probably still be there three years from now. At least by then Josh and Rachel would both be in school.’

‘I can’t wait that long.’

‘Why not?’

‘I just can’t.’

‘You mean you won’t. You’re not prepared to.’

Clare sighed and said, ‘You don’t understand what it’s like being at home with young children all day, Liam. It’s absolutely mind-numbing.’

‘And I think you’ve forgotten what the pressures of corporate life are like, Clare.’ He picked up the sheaf of papers he had been reading, scowled at them, threw them down again. ‘Do you think I like sitting in bed at night reading this crap?’

‘No,’ lied Clare. He had surprised her. She had come to believe that Liam was wedded to his job. It suited her to believe that he enjoyed working long hours, that he was passionate about what he did for a living.

‘Are you unhappy at work?’ she asked, considering this possibility for the first time.

Liam rubbed his chin. The stubble rasped against his palm. He sighed. ‘No, not really. It’s just that sometimes…sometimes I’d rather be doing other things. Like spending more time with the kids.’

A mixed blessing, thought Clare, but also a point well made.

‘I know I’m fortunate to be able to spend time at home,’ said Clare, choosing her words like she was walking through a minefield. ‘But I resent it too.’ She ignored Liam’s sharp intake of breath, and addressed the flimsy paper lampshade hanging above them. She’d meant to replace it when they’d moved in four years ago but, like everything else in her life, such tasks had played second fiddle to the all-consuming activity of child-rearing. ‘I know that sounds like I’m contradicting myself. But it is possible to feel both. I know I do. Maybe other women don’t. Maybe there are women who can give themselves wholly and completely to mothering without a sense of loss of self. Do you know what I mean?’ she asked and looked at him.

It was clear from the blank expression on Liam’s face that he did not. She felt a pressing desire to connect with him, to make him understand what painting meant to her sanity.