Page 29 of We Live Here Now

“I didn’t know what you had so I brought my own things, if that’s all right?”

“That’s great.”

“Would you like a cup of tea before you start?” Freddie’s in the kitchen doorway, all charm and light as if we hadn’t been snarling at each other moments ago. “I’m Freddie. Emily’s husband.”

She nods, birdlike, as she puts down her bag. “Good to meet you. And that would be grand. I’ll drink it as I work. Milk and two sugars.” When she smiles, her tiny teeth are stained from what must be years of smoking. Her hair is still dark, with streaks of silver, and it’s pulled back in a tight bun. “I won’t get in your way.”

“We’re going out for lunch in a bit, so you’ll have the run of the place.” I wonder if she’llfind it, whatever it is.

“Don’t worry about the top floor,” Freddie says, sorting a mug out for her. “We’re not using it yet.”

My heart sinks. I’ll have to try harder to find it myself. I need to prove my sanity to myself, let alone to Freddie.

36

Emily

We’d just arrived at the cottage when Sally’s text came—Will be ten mins, just let yourselves in, the door’s never locked. Help yourselves to drinks—and the oddness of it goes some way to clearing the tension between Freddie and me.

The only thing he’d said in the car was quizzing me about getting a cleaner, which in turn pissed me off because it felt like he was expecting me to do it all like some 1950s housewife even though he insisted that wasn’t the case. We’d sat in silence after that, and I’d wondered what was really at the bottom of our constant annoyance with each other. I have the guilt in the empty space in my abdomen, but what does he have?

“I guess we go in then,” Freddie mutters, and opens the door.

As I follow him inside, we both gasp, our bad moods fading slightly with our shocked surprise at what greets us in the hallway. A vast canvas painted in pinks and browns, maybe five feet high and wide.

“Wow.” Freddie glances at me askance and then tilts his head. “Is that a vagina?”

“I think so.” I look at him and pull a face. “Very 1970s though.” And then we both laugh and for the next few minutes, once we’ve found the wine in the kitchen, we’re like schoolkids again, exploring the glorious artistic eccentricity of the cottage. While from the outside it’s a gorgeous thatched country home, the internal decor is almost Moroccan in style, large cushions for lounging rather than sofas, terra-cotta pots, low mosaicked tables. All gorgeous, but all secondary to the artwork on the walls.

“He really likes vaginas,” Freddie says wryly, and I snort another laugh.

“And boobs.”

The paintings aren’t only nudes; there are several more like the big one in the hallway, close-ups of female anatomy in bright and vivid colors, and they’re amazing, but it’s an onslaught of physicality wherever you look.

“I hope they get back soon,” he says. “I’m starving.”

“The art making you hungry?”

We laugh again, like kids, our bad moods melting away, and when Sally and Joe arrive our moods only get better. Joe is a charming host, and the tapas-style food Sally’s prepared is delicious. Once we’ve eaten our fill and are lounging on the large cushions, it feels like we’re Romans after a feast.

This time, when Joe rolls a joint and holds it out, I find myself taking it, caught up in their bohemia, but I immediately cough after the inhale.

“Oh god, that’ll do for me.” I giggle, the thick smoke immediately making my head buzz, and then Freddie takes it, inhaling deeply.

“So all these are from live models?” Freddie hands the joint back, gesturing at the walls.

“All local models.” Joe reclines, and I can make out the muscular tautness of his torso under his soft shirt. He’s at least fifteen years older, but in way better shape than Freddie.Joe is hot, I think again.Super hot. There’s no denying it.

He sees me looking and, stoned himself, smiles. “I probably know them more intimately than their doctors.”

“Women love Joe,” Sally adds. “They always have. It’s how he captures their essence in his work. They relax around him. And he’s a genius, of course.”

“Let’s not get carried away.” He leans over and kisses her, and she looks at him with such love it makes my heart ache. Freddie and I were like that once. Where did it go?

“Is that your daughter?” Freddie points at a framed photo of the two of them with a woman maybe in her early twenties.

“No, my niece. She lives in New Zealand. My only niece, so we try to get over there every couple of years to see her. Children didn’t come along for us and we’re okay with that. But what about you two?” Sally asks. “Larkin Lodge would make a great family home.”

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