Jessie Burton - The Muse

‘The English mad yes,’ said Cynth. ‘So you goin’ to ask her about all this commesse?’

‘But what Ah goin’ to say?’ One couldn’t exactly confront Quick, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted the woman I knew to vanish further under scrutiny. I felt that if I could show her my support, this might coax her out of the corner, but I wasn’t sure of the best way to go about it. ‘Ah think she keeping secrets for a reason,’ I added.

‘Shoe shop was never like this,’ Cynth sighed. ‘You put a shoe on woman foot and that is it.’

We laughed. ‘No, that is true,’ I said. ‘But you know what else? Quick help me publish a short story, so I in her debt.’

Cynth only heard the bit she wanted to hear, and her eyes lit up. ‘Oh now, published! Oh, that is good . What it called?’

‘“The Toeless Woman”. Remember that woman who come in and have those blocks of feet?’

‘Oh, my God. Yes. I have to read this.’

Tingling with pleasure at her excitement, I told her it was in October’s London Review , but that if she liked I could send her a copy, I could send her ten. I told her how it had all unfolded, Quick sending the story personally to the magazine.

‘I think she like me,’ I said. ‘I think she trust me. I just don’t know exactly what she trustin’ me with.’

Cynth nudged me. ‘It take some white lady to get you to do it, eh, not me?’ I started to protest that I’d had no idea what Quick was planning, but Cynth put her hands up. ‘I jokin’, I jokin’,’ she said. ‘I just glad. Is about time.’

‘How’s Sam?’ I asked, wanting to change the subject away from me, suddenly nervous that Cynth was going to read the dramatization of our joint life in that story about the toeless woman.

‘He good. He very good.’ She looked shy. ‘It have somethin’ I want to tell you, Dell. I want to tell you first. Ah havin’ a baby.’

She looked very nervous about telling me this, which was a shame. But then again — consider how well I’d handled her getting married and leaving me alone in the flat. But this time, I was not going to get it wrong. I was genuinely excited for her. How could you not be, when you saw her pleasure and fear and wonder — that right now, there was this little thing in there, such a good thing, such a good mother to meet it when it finally showed its face.

‘Oh, Cynthia. Cynthia,’ I said, and to my shock tears filled my eyes. ‘I sitting here talking about mysterious women and you the greatest mystery of all.’

‘Delly, you sound like a poet even when you chokin’ up.’

‘Come here. I proud of you.’

We embraced, I held her tight and she held me, breathing out relief and crying a bit, because my happy reaction just made her happier still.

She was due at the beginning of April. She was terrified but excited, and worried they were not going to have enough money for it. ‘You’ll manage,’ I said, thinking how much Cynth’s life was going to transform, whilst mine was going to stay exactly the same. ‘Sam have a good job. An’ have you too.’

‘So, Lawrie,’ she said, dabbing her eyes with tissue. ‘Don’t wriggle. You had a fight.’

I was unable to hide my surprise. ‘How you know?’

‘Because I know you, Delly. I also know that if things were harmony, you would da be seein’ him today, but you at some long loose end and see your boring ol’ friend instead. Let me guess. He tell you he love you and you run a mile.’

‘Is not like that.’

She laughed. ‘He is miserable, Delly. Mis-er-ab-le. He the one who pining.’

‘What? Come on, how you really know?’

‘I hear it from Patrick, who hear it from Barbara, who see the feller mopin’ around like someone chop off his arm. He lost. And he’s a good one, Dell. Don’t be dotish. He say he love you and you push him off a cliff.’ Even though it was an admonishment, Cynth wheezed with laughter.

‘But what if Ah don’t love him? Why I have to love him?’

‘You don’t have to do anything, Delly. You don’t have to rush. But you could give the feller explanation. If only to give his friends a break.’

‘Lawrie the type of man to push a rhino down a rabbit hole. It won’t work.’

‘You a rhino though, Delly, so it would be amusing at least.’

We laughed, me from relief at being able to talk about it, and Cynth because it refreshed her to tease me, to be her younger self, to pull on the old ties and discover they were still intact. I still didn’t know what I wanted, but it was sad to know Lawrie was going around feeling like someone had severed a limb.

After another hour or so, we embraced outside the Tube station, Cynth descending north on the Bakerloo to her new life in Queen’s Park. We promised to see each other before Christmas, and I thought how bittersweet it was, how once upon a time, we’d have made sure we were catching up within the week.

I watched Cynth move down the steps carefully, thinking that surely she had no need to be so ginger. She stopped and turned back. ‘One thing, Dell. If you do speak to Lawrie again, maybe keep this Olive Schloss story to yourself.’

‘Why? If it true—’

‘Well, yes. But you don’t know it true for a fact, do you?’

‘Not yet, but—’

‘And he want to sell that painting, if I hear it right through Barbara. His stepfather selling the house and that painting is all he have. You goin’ around sayin’ that what he got is not an Isaac Robles — it goin’ to knock his ship right out of the water. Don’t make trouble where it don’t have any, Delly. Think of your heart for once, not that clever head.’

I watched her go, knowing that there was sense in what she said, but also aware that Quick’s behaviour wasn’t something I was going to let lie.

*

I called Lawrie that night, but Gerry the Bastard answered. It was a shock to have him pick up.

‘Who’s this, calling on a Sunday?’ he said.

Immediately, I put on my BBC tones. You couldn’t help it — you heard an Englishman like Gerry, you just tried to make your voice sound the same as his. ‘This is Odelle Bastien,’ I said. ‘Is Lawrie there, please?’

‘Lawrence!’ he yelled. Gerry must have put down the receiver because I could hear him move away.

‘Who is it?’ said Lawrie.

‘Couldn’t catch the name. But it sounds like the calypso’s here.’

There was a wait, and then finally Lawrie put his mouth to the receiver. ‘Odelle? Is that you?’

The sound of relief, mingled with wariness in his voice, was painful to hear. ‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘How are you, Lawrie?’

‘Fine, thanks. You?’

‘Fine,’ I lied. ‘I got a story published.’

‘You called to tell me that?’

‘No — I — it’s just. It’s what’s happened, that’s all. Was that Gerry I spoke to?’

‘Yes. Sorry about that. Well done on the story.’

We were silent for a moment. Ironically, I didn’t know how to shape these particular words, how to tell him that I missed him, that strange things were happening with Quick, that my best friend was having a baby and I felt like a teenager out of my depth.

‘I’m coming to the gallery tomorrow, as it happens,’ he said, his voice more hushed. ‘Is that why you’ve called?’

‘No. I didn’t know.’

‘Reede’s had more information from a fellow who works at Peggy Guggenheim’s palazzo in Venice. A couple of interesting things, apparently.’

‘I see.’

‘So why did you call? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.’

‘No — that’s not — I do. I do. I spoke to Cynthia. She said you’ve been miserable.’

There was quiet on the line. ‘I was miserable.’

‘You’re not miserable any more?’