Page 56 of When We Were Young

Emily

I ring Scott’s doorbell. We haven’t spoken since the trip to Beatland. The drive back from Gloucestershire was excruciating. Scott stared straight ahead at the road and Liv sat in the back in silence.

He texted me this morning: We need to talk about Liv.

So here I am.

But he’s not answering. I’m about to press the bell again when he opens the door, his phone pressed to his ear. He gestures for me to come in. The conversation sounds heated. He finishes up his call and goes straight to the fridge.

‘Sorry about that,’ he says. ‘Wine?’

‘Just a small one.’

He pours two glasses and hands me one.

‘What’s up?’ I ask.

‘Ah, it’s work. I’ve got a big Christmas campaign that’s giving me grief.’

‘Christmas? It’s June.’

‘We do Christmas campaigns in the summer – we’re so behind this year.’

‘What happened?’

‘We were partnering with an artist – Guy Arnaud. Have you heard of him?’

‘No.’

‘He’s been a nightmare throughout the entire process, a real prima donna, and now he’s not returning my calls. I’ve got a meeting with the client on Wednesday and nothing to show. I’m glad you’re here; maybe you can help?’

‘Me?’

‘This is right up your street, Em. I don’t know why I didn’t ask you before.’

‘Scott, I’m not an artist. I’m a barista, and a poor one at that.’

‘I just need an idea. Tell me what you would do.’

He grabs his iPad, and we take our drinks to the dining table. He pulls up a website.

‘This client is a luxury hotel group with three hotels: one in London, Paris, and Amsterdam. You know how luxury hotels have big Christmas displays in their reception areas? Well, this year we suggested partnering with an artist. Someone on the client team recommended Guy Arnaud, but he’s useless.’

He shows me photographs. ‘This is the Amsterdam hotel. We need to put a display in this area.’

He points to the space next to a sweeping staircase.

‘It used to be a music school in the 1800s, so it has a music theme. This one is in London. It has a writing theme because Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling stayed there. And this one’s in Paris. It’s an Art Nouveau palace, so it has an art theme.’

I take the iPad and scroll through the photos. ‘Remember those vintage baubles I have? You could have a huge bauble hanging from the ceiling. Do you have a pen?’

He grabs a pen from a drawer and hands me an unopened letter.

I sketch the shape of a fifties-style bauble with a point at the top and the bottom.

‘They’ve got that concave circle with a starburst in the middle,’ I say, adding one to my drawing.

‘This could be a window; when you peer in, there’s a display of violins and saxophones or something.

And in the London one you could have quills and books.

And the Paris one, maybe paint brushes and palettes. ’

‘I love it!’ says Scott.

‘I have no idea how you’d make it, though.’

‘Don’t worry about that. We have a production company to work that out.’

‘You could have three in each hotel, a big central one representing the hotel and two smaller ones hanging either side representing the sister hotels.’

‘Can you sketch it for me properly? Show me how you imagine it would look.’

‘What, now ?’

‘Do you mind? Have you got to be anywhere?’

‘No.’ I say. ‘Listen, I’ll do you a sketch, but you’ll have to get your team to do it properly for the client.’

‘Okay. I’ll get some paper.’

He comes back with a pile of paper, coloured pencils, and fine liner pens. He spreads them out on the table in front of me.

‘I’ll make us some dinner. Is pasta all right?’

‘Great, thanks.’

He tops up my wine and I realise he didn’t get me around here to talk about Liv after all.

He cooks, I scribble, and by the time the food is ready, I’ve finished two of the three sketches.

‘So, what shall we do about Liv?’ he says, sitting opposite me with two bowls of pasta.

‘Well, there ought to be consequences for what she did. She can’t go off without telling us where she is.’

‘Hasn’t she’s suffered enough – what with getting mugged and us catching her boyfriend with his pants down?’

‘It’s not about making her suffer, it’s about making her think twice before doing anything stupid like that again.’ I shovel in a forkful of pasta; it doesn’t taste too bad.

‘I thought maybe we should ground her or take her phone away but she and Chloe still aren’t talking and I don’t want to get in the way of them making up. Their friendship is on the line. It’s more important than punishing her.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that…’ Jesus, when did he become so good at this parenting lark? ‘What should we do then?’

‘We should have a conversation about trust and remind her she can talk to us. She doesn’t need to keep secrets from us. I’d rather know what she’s doing than go traipsing round the countryside looking for her again.’

‘So, no punishment?’

‘No punishment.’

We eat in silence for a bit.

‘ You should have the trust conversation with her though,’ I say. ‘It’ll sound better coming from you.’

‘Fine.’

I hear the front door close and the sound of keys clanking on a table.

‘What are you doing here?’ Liv says when she sees me.

‘Dad needed my help with work stuff.’ I go to her and put my arms around her, but she stands rigid, so I let go. ‘How was it at Amplify today?’

‘Good.’ She goes to Scott, threads her arms around his middle, and gives him a squeeze. I drop my gaze.

‘There’s pasta in the saucepan. Help yourself,’ he says.

‘I’ve already eaten, thanks.’ She grabs a caramel wafer from the cupboard. ‘I’ll leave you two to it.’ And off she goes.

‘That’s it?’ I ask Scott. ‘That’s all I get?’

He shrugs. ‘It’s better than nothing.’

Neither of us eats much more, and he clears away the dishes while I work on the last sketch.

His phone rings, and he goes out to the garden to take the call. Whenever I look up, he’s pacing and gesticulating, and by the time he comes back in, I’ve finished the sketches.

‘Wow, Em, they look great. You’re a lifesaver. This’ll look fantastic.’

I’m pleased with how they came out. ‘Anytime.’

‘Do you want a coffee?’

‘No thanks, I’d better get going.’

He follows me out to the hall.

I call up to Liv. She shouts ‘bye’ but doesn’t come down the stairs.

‘I hope the meeting goes well,’ I say.

‘Thanks, I’ll let you know.’

He opens the door for me. I step out, then turn back. ‘Scott?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re great with her. She loves you.’

He gives me a lopsided smile. ‘She loves you too, you know.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I lie.