Pun intended? Bren says, and she imagines Robin’s smile, at this, his good teeth. Wine glass lifted in acknowledgement.
Why antiques, then, Bren asks, and this is good, Nora thinks. A reasonable question. An effort being made.
I just fell into it, Robin tells him. Kind of like you with your adventure stuff? I actually dabbled in three degrees, before landing on photography. And after graduating I was mostly shooting artworks in museums and archives, items for luxury retailers, that sort of thing. Antiques just kind of rolled my way, after that.
Silence, then; Bren nodding, she suspects, from behind the wall. And things seem fine, she thinks, after all. She’ll go fetch herself some wine; they’ll talk about Peru and Bren will stay for the planned evening movie, maybe. They’ll order takeaway, the Japanese place does a deal on Sundays, and this strange feeling inside her will settle while Robin, too, is put at ease, and Bren learns that her home, like his mother’s driveway, can be a safe space, somewhere where old feelings can just … fade away.
I do like the history of it all, Robin is saying. Every object has a story, just like a person. If you look beyond how they present themselves.
A pause, then. Nora decides to stay where she is.
It’s why I never liked portraiture, Robin says. People can be unpredictable, which I don’t like, so much.
Bren, it seems, does not quite catch the pointed nature of Robin’s words, but Nora hears how strange they are, coming out of her partner’s mouth. How deliberate, like his work; capturing an angle that someone else, someone less observant or emotionally in tune, might not.
So those portraits in the hall, Bren says. They’re not yours?
Robin laughs at this – not unkindly – and says ah, no. They’re Nora’s favourite.
Another pause, then. This time, Nora thinks, because Bren does not like being laughed at.
You’re not Nora’s favourite?
Andthatpointedness is not missed. She hears Robin’s voice change; a note of hardness, like he’s unimpressed.
They’re by Robert Mapplethorpe, Robin says. But it’s the subject she’s into, rather than the photographer. Nora loves Patti Smith.
I know, Bren says. I was there when she bought a copy ofWoolgatheringfrom a jumble sale, when we were kids.
Small noise, from Robin, in understanding. Nora waits for him to see the pun, make the joke:Just Kids? but he doesn’t. The only noise another blast of wind against the front door, causing a slight draught in the hall.
Look, Bren, he says, eventually. I can tell you’re not a fan.
I don’t know anything about Robert Mapplethorpe, mate, Bren says.
I meant of me, Robin says, and Nora’s heart stalls.
I’m notnota fan, Bren says.
Well, the feeling’s mutual, Robin says. You seem like a cool guy, Bren. You’ve got to be, to be such a close friend of Nora’s. But I’m starting to feel a bit uneasy, to be frank. About how you mess with her feelings.
Nora’s breath stalls now, too; where, she wonders, isthiscoming from.
I’ve never once messed with her feelings, Bren says, after a tight pause. That whole thing was a misunderstanding.
I’m not talking about Freya’s phone call, Robin says, and Nora can almost see Bren’s face, his chin lifted in defence.
Or even how you travelled the world without her. I’m talking about all the stuff that came afterwards. All the times you’d arrange a video call but wouldn’t show, because you forgot. Then calling her up out of nowhere, without asking if it was a good time to talk.
She could’ve said if it wasn’t.
But she wouldn’t, would she? Robin says. And I think on some level, you must know that, Bren. I’m not having a go, he says, and Nora imagines him holding his palms up, I’m just telling you how it is. How you light her up, when you deign to make an appearance, but also how … unworthy you make her feel, too.
That is not how I make her feel.
Except it is, Robin says. She told me so.
Nora’s heart, no longer stalled, cuts out completely.Shit.
