Nicola Barker - Love Your Enemies

He walked over to his drawings and illustrations on the wall. ‘In my design I’m attempting to create something unusual and beautiful that is both about the physical and …’ he paused, ‘… the metaphysical.’ She frowned, ‘I don’t get it.’

He thought for a moment and then ran one of his hands through his hair, slicking it back and pulling out some of the tangles. Then he stopped what he was doing and held out his hand to her and wiggled his fingers, ‘What’s this?’

She stared at him incredulously. ‘It’s your hand.’

He nodded. ‘Right, it’s my hand, but it has the capacity to be many things. Just now I used it as a comb. My separate fingers were individual spokes, each one brushing my hair into place.’ He picked up his coffee and tipped a small amount into his cupped palm. Some of it dribbled down his arm. The coffee was still very hot, but he didn’t seem to feel it. He said, ‘What is it now?’

She shrugged. ‘Is it a cup? Or a bowl?’

He nodded. ‘That’s it! That’s the idea. Well, what I want to do with my coffin design is the same sort of thing. The design has a physical aspect — it encloses a body, a dead body — but it also has another purpose, a purpose beyond its practical use.’

She frowned again. ‘Like what? Like to look attractive, or what?’

He smiled, exhilarated, ‘Yes, to look attractive, but also to be ironic, to point back at itself and say “So much has been said about death, but this is a parody of death, makes light of death, makes death into something concrete and individual.”’

He paused for a moment. ‘I’m not making much sense, am I?’

She grimaced. ‘Ever so slightly. Maybe it’s possible to make comparisons in the worlds of art or fashion. In our shop the clothes we make and sell are very extrovert and unusual. A lot of them are impractical, loud, brash, silly. People have to be very adventurous to wear them; flashy, I suppose. In many ways though, the clothes really make fun of themselves, make fun of fashion. They are fashionable, yet they are individual. They are extreme. They take designs and shapes that other people might wear and they exaggerate them, make fun of them, they take everything to the extreme, to the point at which they become totally silly and impractical.’

She stopped. ‘I’m talking nonsense.’

He laughed. ‘We both are.’

While she had been talking he had been sipping the coffee out of his palm. His hand was now wet and he wiped it on his trousers. ‘I tell you what. I’ve got a bottle of wine in the kitchen, do you want to share it? I feel like a drink.’

Although somewhat surprised by his sudden sociability, Melissa nodded her head keenly — ‘I’d love to’ — and watched him as he left the room and then listened to his various clatterings out in the kitchen. He returned with an open bottle of red and two glasses. As he poured he said, ‘When you think about the sort of fashion that your shop promotes you have to think about the fact that you are fashion leaders. Fashion always starts off with extreme ideas which are eventually modified into the mainstream.’

Melissa nodded and stood up to get her glass of wine, ‘I suppose coffins — the idea of them — hasn’t been very controversial for a good while.’

He took a sip of his wine and grimaced. ‘I suppose not. But if you think back to the time when tombs in churches were designed to be as showy as possible, when small amounts of wealth and fame were sufficient justification for a life-sized stone sculpture of the person attached to the lid of the stone coffin … I suppose in those instances though the idea of the coffin as a box and the headstone as a spectacle had become enmeshed.’

Melissa said quickly, ‘Yes, but think about the Egyptians for example. I remember the big Tutankhamen exhibition from when I was a tiny kid — with all those great gold and enamel sarcophaguses — they probably took coffin design as far as it’s possible to go.’

John nodded his agreement and leaned against his woodwork table again. ‘What I want to do is in many ways a contradiction of that extravagance and that idealization of death. By being excessive I almost feel as though those tomb-makers were in a stage of denial. They wanted to deny the fact that death changes everything. They wanted things to remain as before.’

As he spoke he stared into Melissa’s eyes, which seemed very lively. She was grinning vivaciously.

‘Maybe you think I’m talking rubbish? This is all really just off the top of my head.’

Her grin diminished slightly, ‘No, I think it’s fascinating. Do you give as much thought to all the pieces you make?’

John felt momentarily restricted. ‘I believe in giving my all, however much that amounts to. In many ways I suppose that the idea is the most important thing. Once you’ve thought about something, taken a stance, made plans, that’s half the battle won.’

Melissa’s smile returned. She said, ‘I know exactly what you mean there. It’s like a commitment, a state of mind. Sometimes that’s all that matters. It’s like goodwill.’

John frowned slightly and walked over to add an extra tack to the corner of one of his pictures on the wall, ‘Well, it’s more like an intention really, a decision to act, to change things mentally so that they are changed in fact; a tiny alteration of mental perspective and the whole world is different.’

They stared at each other for a moment, both confused. Melissa quickly looked at her watch and then drained her glass, ‘I think I’d probably better get going before I hit the rush hour on the tube. I live quite a good way away.’

John nodded. ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you again. I really must repay you for that material. I bet it cost a fortune.’

As he spoke he disappeared from the room and returned holding her damp mac. Melissa stood up and took it from him. She said, ‘It wasn’t cheap. The receipt’s in the bag.’

He found it and took out his wallet, giving her a couple of notes. He said, ‘You can’t imagine how grateful I am. It’s been great chatting to you, a real distraction. You’ve really helped me to crystallize my thoughts. I feel all focused and purposeful!’

Melissa smiled and put on her coat. She said, ‘I’d love to pop round again and see how it’s going, even though I haven’t quite clarified in my mind what on earth it is that you’re intending to do.’

John escorted her to the door. ‘Come any time. I’d really like you to drop by again. Thanks for everything.’

He opened the door for her. His face ached from smiling. Melissa turned and waved goodbye. After he’d closed the door, John leant against it and held on to the handle. He closed his eyes and his face shone with sweat.

The following day, Steve wanted to know all about the previous afternoon. When Melissa arrived in the morning she had a great air of self-satisfaction and smugness. She was wearing a dress that she had designed and made herself which he had not seen before. He slouched against the changing room curtains and appraised her as she took off her coat and checked her make-up. ‘That’s a new frock. Nice. How did it go yesterday?’

Melissa smiled. ‘I made this myself. It went well. He’s a really nice guy, strange but nice. We had a good chat.’

Steve grinned, ‘What about, the art of coffin-making?’

Melissa shrugged, ‘Joke if you want. There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye.’

Steve stopped grinning and began to look interested. He said incredulously, ‘You didn’t get off with him?’

Melissa squealed, ‘Of course I bloody didn’t. It’s not like that.’

‘Well, what is it like?’ he interrupted.

She looked sceptical and remote, ‘It’s none of your business, Steve, it’s private. Anyway, I’d feel silly telling you, I think you’d laugh at me.’