Untouchable Things Read online

  That was two years ago. He hadn’t thought about art or studios for at least half of that, not even when he looked at exhibitions in the trendy coffee bars where he spent his takings. He now had his own place on the edge of Soho, but he needed to work every night to pay the rent and then slept most of the day – so where was the time or money to paint? That was what he told himself. That dream seemed to belong to another him, a naïve boy with no clue about the real world.

  Of course he wouldn’t be doing this forever, at some level he assumed that. But how he would stop or what he’d do next – these were questions he was always too tired or busy to answer. To ask.

  And yet here was a complete stranger asking him. Why? London, or maybe his occupation, had taught José cynicism: as far as he could see, self-interest was the bedrock of all communication.

  “You haven’t answered. What if it was an artistic pursuit that brought in money?”

  “What if? What if there was a tree outside my window that grew £50 notes, what if this tap poured with wine, what if you shut the fuck up and left me alone?” He waved his hands and waited for the man to get angry, to leave without paying him. He didn’t care about the money now, he just wanted to be alone. But instead the man reached out his hand. “Come back to bed.” And José found himself walking towards the compassion in a stranger’s eyes.

  He went pretty crazy. He was rough. The man not only let him but matched him, gave it back. It was if they had swapped roles and José was calling the shots, demanding his needs be met. They grabbed, tussled, bit. José growled and howled like a cornered animal. After coming he pushed the man to the bed and locked himself in the bathroom where he crouched and sobbed and sobbed. Something had woken up, something that made him retch with grief for what he had lost. He heard a door closing, footsteps disappearing, but he stayed on the floor until his tears and feelings had died down.

  Painfully he straightened up, opened the door onto the emptiness of his room, the day ahead. No money had been left. He hugged himself, shivering. He couldn’t deal with this now. He needed to sleep, to blot himself out for as long as his body allowed. A sudden chirp from the door buzzer made him jump. Probably some drunk who hadn’t made it to bed – it wouldn’t be the first time. He caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror, clutching his nakedness like a madman. The door buzzed again, and then continually for five seconds. Wearily he picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  The answering voice was both strange and familiar. “Your coffee’s getting cold.”

  Seth stayed for the whole day. José was scared by his rising feelings of neediness towards this person, this client. He didn’t know how he could have got through the day alone. He found himself talking, opening up, about the dreams he’d had and the decisions he’d made that had left him pinned in a trap. No one from his old life visited him, not even his parents, because he had told too many lies. They all believed he was in sales. Which he was, but the product would have appalled them. His only friends, such as they were, were fellow street workers. Even his Spanish friend Carlos had thrown him out of his flat when he’d found out what José was doing. With no one to hold a mirror to him he lost sight of himself.

  Who could have imagined that one of his clients would provide the mirror? The reflection was not pretty. Part of him wanted to smash the glass but it was too late, he had seen himself. This was not who he was supposed to be. This face belonged to a nightmare.

  “You should go. You must have things to do.” He tried to throw a veil of lightness over his terror of being abandoned now.

  “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we go out for some food and a bottle of wine?”

  José recoiled at the thought of stepping outside, his rubbed-raw face on view to a city of watchful strangers.

  “Come on, it’ll do you good. You’ve been hiding away in here for long enough. I’ll look after you.”

  José managed a wan smile and shook his head. “It’s okay, you go. I have some thinking to do.”

  “Then let’s think together.” Seth took his hand and squeezed it, almost tenderly. “Whoever managed to do any decent thinking on an empty stomach?”

  José squeezed back and then, like a little miracle, he felt a bubbling of hunger in his belly. “Well, there is a little place round the corner …”

  He took you out for a meal. Did that not strike you as a little unusual, given the circumstances?

  Of course. But everything about Seth was unusual. That was the attraction.

  They drank wine and ate paninis. José felt like something had lifted. He had stopped wondering why Seth was still there and was just enjoying this moment, two lovers – or two people who had made love, he corrected himself – sharing a meal. He sat back, looking around at the familiar space.

  “Very bad décor in here, isn’t it?”

  Seth looked surprised. “You don’t like the minimalist look.”

  “Minimalism without soul is empty, just for effect. See, if you splashed some colour on the walls, got rid of these ridiculous hard chairs, put hand-written menu boards up it would start to feel human. Every time I come here I think this place is trying too hard to be ‘modern’.” He shrugged. “I guess I keep coming though.”

  Seth was leaning in, looking alert. “What else would you do?”

  “Oh, don’t get me started. Wooden table and chairs with funky coloured cushions. Big bright painted blocks on the wall. Soft side lighting instead of these Nazi spotlights. It would still be modern but it would be…”

  “Welcoming.” Seth looked round, nodding in slow motion. “Do you regularly sit in restaurants mentally improving them?”

  “I suppose I do. I’d never really thought about it. It’s something I’ve always done.”

  “And you never thought about being a designer?”

  José laughed. “Not seriously. It seemed a bit – ambitious maybe? Like I’d have to be a young, thrusting – what’s the word? Gobshite. I only thought about the studio thing really.”

  “And is that still your dream?”

  José spoke slowly, thinking his words out. “It seems far away, a dream I had when I was someone else. I don’t feel the same desire or connection. It doesn’t seem very practical.”

  They were both silent.

  “José, I think I have a proposition for you.”

  “Does it involve another night at my place? Because you still haven’t paid me for the first one.”

  They both laughed. “Well, actually it could involve quite a few nights at my place.”

  José raised his eyebrows.

  “Here’s the thing.” Seth looked excited, spoke quickly. “I have a couple of other flats in London. I’m one of those revolting rich people everyone despises.”

  “I couldn’t have guessed.”

  Seth smiled. “Anyway, I rent one of them out, in Shepherd’s Bush, and the last tenants trashed it. It’s not the most amazing flat in the world but I’ve always thought I could do more with it.”

  José nodded, no idea what was coming next.

  “It’s obvious. You need somewhere to live to get off the game. You also need an income and to develop a career in something else. Yes?”

  “Ye-es.” It was all true but José felt odd having someone else articulate it so matter-of-factly.

  “Well, how about this, you come and live in the flat, rent free of course, and at the same time use your creativity to give it a makeover – no, a full facelift. I’ll pay you for that and at the end of the day you might find yourself on a new career path.” He stopped, keeping his eyes on José’s face.

  José almost laughed. How could this man, this stranger, make him an offer like that? How could he accept? It was wine and sexual attraction talking and he’d retract tomorrow.

  He shook his head. “It’s an amazing offer. But I can’t accept.”

  “Because?”

  “You don’t know me. It’s crazy. I would never be able to pay you back.”

  Seth pulled a ciga
rette out of a tarnished silver box. “Okay, number one, I don’t know you well but I never know my tenants or the people who do work for me. What’s the difference? Number two, it may be impetuous but it’s not crazy – it’s actually a divinely logical solution. Number three, you would have nothing to pay back in either the financial or moral sense. I don’t hand out charity. I always make sure there’s something in it for me.”

  The last sentence hung in the air as José tried to think. Seth had been following him around, had wanted something from him from the beginning. What was he getting involved with? But to say no, to turn down this opportunity… What was it the British said, something about horses?

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, José,” said Seth softly, causing him to jerk his head up and stare. “And don’t think I’d be looking for payment in kind. In fact, if you say yes, I think we should agree that there will be nothing more physical between us. Keeps it cleaner.”

  “Of course.” José had to work to keep his face neutral. The man had made him the offer of a lifetime and yet he still felt rejected. Seth put a hand over his. “Not that I wouldn’t like to. But I’ve been in this situation before and it can get messy.”

  José squeezed the hand lightly before removing his. “Okay, you’re the boss. I think I should be getting home now – I need to think this through.”

  Seth nodded. “Think away but don’t take too long. In my experience your first instinct is always the right one.”

  José slept for eleven hours that night and in the morning rang Seth and said yes.

  You’re telling us that Seth Gardner helped you when he barely knew you?

  He didn’t help me. Let’s get that straight. He saved me.

  Scene 14

  Did you feel accepted as part of the Friday Folly, Miss Laurence?

  Rebecca munched at another cold piece of toast and marmite. Richard and Judy were looking in wonder at a pork chop that had been marinated in balsamic vinegar. Rebecca hadn’t eaten meat since 1987 and still she didn’t turn it off. She flicked crumbs off her dressing gown onto the floor, where they’d show up less. Her flatmate, Shazia, was due back tomorrow and even that hadn’t motivated her to clean the house. She’d have to do something today. Even Shaz had her standards.

  It was always hard after a show had finished, but this was worse than usual. Her agent had gone quiet, always a bad sign. She still hadn’t managed to get a voice-over agent; a couple of radio ads a month would give her a financial cushion for times like these. Her allowance from her parents – her guilty secret that she told no one about – wouldn’t last to the end of the month. She should get off her backside and phone the temp agency. And not just for the money. Even updating the filing system of a freight company, as she’d done last time, would be more rewarding than this.

  She sighed and watched Richard and Judy make their way – he bounding, she plodding – to the fashion area. Hell, she even knew it was the fashion area with the sound turned down. A model, not paid to speak, smiled and rotated like a musical box fairy, displaying a grim red PVC skirt with a black zipped jacket. Richard leaned his head to one side and talked animatedly. Judy was probably saying ‘Yes, Richard’ in that slightly schoolmarmish way.

  With no warning, Rebecca hurled the remote control across the room. It didn’t seem to bother Richard and Judy but she looked down at her hand, surprised. There was nothing to feel bad about really. Hamlet was over but had got some great reviews; so had she. It didn’t seem to help. She and Jason had been tetchy with each other all weekend and he’d admitted he felt jealous of her new friends.

  The new friends who had gone very quiet. This, she hated to admit, was the real problem. Anna had mentioned some girls’ lunch at the end of the group and said she’d get in touch. Nothing. Then there was Seth. She hadn’t expected to hear from him, at least so quickly, but she still felt his absence like a door swinging in the wind.

  She stood up slowly, batting more crumbs onto the floor. And then her phone pinged into life.

  * * * * *

  The next morning, Shazia found Rebecca singing over a sink of washing-up.

  “Bloody hell, mate. You almost look like you’re enjoying yourself. Careful now.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I’m just trying to be a better flatmate. I’ve got to go out in an hour so I thought I’d surprise you.”

  “You have. Where are you off?”

  “A girly lunch in Covent Garden.”

  “What better plan for a sunny Saturday morning, I say. I’m going back to bed.”

  Rebecca grinned and moved onto the frying pan.

  Two hours later she found Anna and José huddled over a bottle of wine in the corner of a busy bistro.

  “Hey, is this the girly lunch table?”

  “Girls and honorary girls. And dishonourable girls. All welcome here.”

  God, Anna was sharp. She’d need her wits about her. “Well, I’m sure I fit one of those categories – just not sure which.”

  She sat down and Anna slid a wine glass towards her. Rebecca looked round. “No Catherine?”

  Anna and José raised eyebrows at each other. “The Andersen’s android is indisposed.” Said in a sort of dalek voice.

  “Oh, she’s an accountant?” It fitted.

  “Accountant-cum-housekeeper. She’s probably ironing Seth’s shirts as we speak.”

  “Anna!” José shook a finger at her, but Rebecca laughed. She felt no particular loyalty to Catherine.

  Anna poured the wine. “You think I jest?”

  “You’re not serious?”

  Anna nodded, smirking. “Quite the little maid. José caught her in the act, so to speak, dashing away with the smoothing iron.” She slurped her drink and laughed at Rebecca’s expression. “After he bought her that piano she’ll do anything for him.”

  Rebecca shook her head, confused. “Sorry…?”

  “Ah, there’s so much you don’t know yet.” The two of them laughed, not unkindly. Rebecca took a gulp of wine. A full-blooded Chardonnay.

  “So Seth bought a piano for Catherine?”

  “Not just any piano. A grand piano, which is housed at his place just to confuse matters.”

  “The Steinway?” Rebecca puckered up her face in disbelief. “Are they… together?”

  “Yes and no.” Anna laughed again. “As in, yes he bought the Steinway for her – well, pretty much, though he knew it would look good in the flat – and no, they’re not together. Much as she’d like to be.”

  “I see – I think.” She looked at José, who shrugged.

  “It’s true. Seth was in a piano shop one day, heard Catherine play that piano, bought it and gave her a spare set of keys. Bish bosh.”

  “It’s Friday Folly folklore now.” They both smiled broadly.

  “Wow, that’s so… generous.” Rebecca summoned a return smile to hide the seething in her gut.

  Anna winked. “That’s our Seth. Generous to a fault with his parents’ money. And he gets nothing in return except a lifetime of devotion from the Little Maid and all his cleaning needs taken care of.”

  “So he’s got rich parents?” Rebecca couldn’t help the direct question. She needed to know more, to understand.

  “Had, darling. I doubt they need the money much now.”

  “What, they’re dead?”

  Anna nodded.

  Seth, an orphan. “I had no idea.” She swallowed, realising how little she knew about him.

  “Yeah, it’s not something he talks about much. Car crash, apparently. When he was eighteen.” Anna’s tone had softened as she played with a breadstick. There was a brief pause. “Anyway, enough of that. We’re here to find out all about you.” They both leaned in, theatrically.

  “Well, what can I tell you?” The abrupt change of subject was disorientating. Everything was disorientating.

  “Ooh, you name it, darling. We’ve got all day.”

  “Anna usually starts with general questions like what knickers you wear before
moving to the more personal stuff. Say, your favourite vibrator. In case she’s missed one.” Anna and José giggled.

  Rebecca thought quickly. “Knickers? How very quaint.” A split second’s silence then guffaws from both of them. At least she’d sidestepped the vibrator question.

  Anna raised her glass. “Very good. I can see we’ll have to watch you. Like Seth does.”

  “Seth?” It was a reasonable attempt at nonchalance.

  “Come on, don’t pretend you haven’t noticed. You’re his latest crush. He’s captivated by that translucent skin and that abundant red hair…”

  “And those long, slim legs and feline eyes. Rrrrrr.” José imitated a cat stretching its claws.

  Rebecca laughed. She was dying to know more but sensed a trap. “Well, thank you kindly, ladies, but he hasn’t bought me a piano yet.”

  “Oh, you’ll probably be in line for a small theatre if you play your cards right.”

  Rebecca took a slug of wine and grinned. She needed to change the subject.

  “So, how did you all meet? How did the Friday Folly come to be?”

  “Dreadful name,” muttered José, shaking his head. “Seth’s choice, of course.”

  “Well it is his group. Seth has a recruitment programme. Meets someone, takes a shine to them, finds out they’re artistic in some way and lures them in with sweet talking and the odd gift.”

  “You make him sound predatory.”

  “Predatory.” Anna swilled the word round in her mouth. “That’s probably about right.”

  “But that’s awful.”

  “Awful? God, no. Seth’s a one-off. He makes things happen. Meet him once and you can’t stay away – you know that. And why would you want to when you have so much damn fun hanging out with him.”

  “True enough,” said José, getting up. “Sorry – weak bladder.”

  Rebecca turned back to Anna as José headed towards the gents. “Was that how you met him?”

  Anna took another breadstick. “We should order soon. I met him through José. He and I became friends a few years ago, when he was involved with Seth. Naturally I wanted to meet this amazing person he talked about all the time.”