Page 8 of Autumn at the Willow River Guesthouse
Being positive was something her parents had always instilled in her, so she put away her laptop and stood up. What could she do to cheer herself up? Mentally, she started to make a list:
Buy something with flowers on it
Buy some actual flowers
Buy a box of doughnuts
Do all of the above
Go wedding dress shopping
Perfect. She clicked her fingers. Steve would be at his studio on Lower Castle Road, and there was a Mister Donut nearby. Doughnuts, a surprise visit, and then an afternoon of wedding shopping together. Then, hopefully to top it all off, she would open her laptop in the evening to find her email simply pinging with job interview requests.
She would need to squeeze in a visit to the zoo to make it a perfect day, but she’d wasted too much time drinking coffee, so would have to settle for a nearly. Perhaps they could feed some stray cats or something.
Steve’s studio was in an attic apartment overlooking a canal. At least three times the size of her own place, it had decent views, high rafters, and even a balcony. When she had suggested they might convert it into a first home after their wedding, however, Steve had stared wide-eyed and said, ‘Marriage is supposed to be a beginning, not an end,’ whatever that might mean, so Lily had dropped it. He was close, though, close to breaking through, so he said, to getting a big exhibition or a major commission. One day, he said, she’d look back on the years supporting him and see them as worth it. And, of course, you had to support your partner. That’s what real couples did.
She picked up five doughnuts—two each and one for luck—then found herself whistling as she went into his building’s lobby. There was a small dress shop up the street where she thought they could start, and she glanced through the catalogue she had picked up while she waited for the lift—another luxury she couldn’t afford for herself.
As the lift doors opened, she smelled the aroma of oil paints and clay. The landlord had complained to her on several occasions, but Lily had liked it. Not only did it feel familiar, but it reminded her of home. Her mother was always making something, and when he wasn’t running a burger van, her dad’s hobby was creating murals out of stones or glass. Lily, who had never really been into anything creative, might have worried she was adopted, had it not been that she had both her mother’s looks and her father’s determination, not to mention a bit of both noses.
Steve’s door was locked, and Lily didn’t have a key, despite paying Steve’s monthly rent. He said a creative should never be interrupted, and who was she to argue? A person on a business call didn’t like to be interrupted either.
However, today she felt like surprising him. She pressed the buzzer, then put a finger over the little camera.
‘Who is it?’ came Steve’s voice.
Lily frowned, then attempted to put on a man’s voice. ‘It’s the council,’ she said, trying not to laugh.
‘Oh, right. Well, hang on a minute.’
Steve opened the door and stepped back. Before he could react, Lily jumped forward, into his arms.
‘Lily … what’s this all about? It’s really not a good time … I was in the middle of something.’
His body felt rigid. He had put one hand on her back, but there was none of the warmth she would usually feel. She let go of him, noticing that the belt of his jeans was unbuckled beneath his untucked shirt.
Unruly and unkempt where she could have stepped out of a business attire catalogue, it wasn’t unusual. As she pulled away, however, Lily caught movement out of the corner of her eye.
‘Well, Steven,’ came a curt woman’s voice. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
Lily felt the air move as Steve tensed. She turned. A woman several years older than herself with a stern but flushed face and the buttons of her blouse undone was making for the door.
‘Who are you?’
‘This is … ah … Margaret from Billings Street Gallery,’ Steve said. ‘We’re … ah … negotiating for an exhibition.’
The stairs to the lower floors—against fire regulations which would get her another slap on the wrist if the landlord found out—were blocked, so there was another awkward moment while Margaret pressed the lift door control, then had to wait a few seconds for the doors to open. She glanced back at Steve as she went inside, then the doors closed, and Lily felt her world collapsing.
‘I can explain—’
The doughnuts tumbled from her hand as Lily turned. One hand came up, and she slapped him across the cheek with all the power she could muster, which admittedly, slightly off balance, wasn’t much. He staggered, letting out a theatrical gasp.
‘It’s not what it looks like,’ he cried. ‘Sometimes, you have do what needs to be done. Don’t tell me no one’s ever slept their way to the top in the finance industry—’
She stepped back and slammed the door. She wanted to kill him, but nothing blocking the stairs looked like a suitable weapon. She jabbed the lift door control, but the old thing was still in the process of taking Margaret from Billings Street Gallery out of her life, so instead Lily clambered up the pile of folded easels and paint points and sheets and other junk that she had spent the last three years paying for, until she could get to the stairs beyond. Then, trying not to cry, she ran down them as fast as she could, doing her best not to slip in her heels and add a visit to the emergency room to the growing list of bad luck that was stacking up on her shoulders like a precarious pile of folded chairs.
An expensive car was just pulling away from the curb. Lily looked around for something to throw, but this section of road was uncommonly neat and tidy, and all she could do was lift a frustrated fist and hope Margaret from Billings Street Gallery—if indeed it was actually a place—would glance in the mirror just before she turned out of sight. Somehow, Lily doubted it.
