‘You know that’s not true, and remember that not everyone appreciates your taste. Besides, as an interior design company we should be reflecting less… alternative designs and more of what people can apply to their own homes.’ She studied the chair some more. ‘It looks like a bird with a very bad stomach has gone to the toilet on it.’
Poppy looked at her proudly. ‘I’m glad someone got the idea.’
‘Anyway, I’ve already allowed you to put up that screen,’ Elizabeth nodded her head at the partition Poppy had decorated with every colour and material known to man, to act as a dividing wall between Becca and herself.
‘Yes, and people love that screen,’ Poppy said. ‘I’ve already had three requests from customers.’
‘Requesting what? To take it down?’ Elizabeth smiled.
They both studied the divider thoughtfully, arms folded, heads cocked to one side as though studying a piece of art in a museum, while the chair continued to spin in front of them.
Suddenly the chair leaped and the screen beside Poppy’s desk went crashing to the floor. The three women jumped and each took a step back. The chair began to slow down and came to a stop.
Poppy held her hand over her mouth. ‘It’s a sign.’ Her voice was muffled.
On the other side of the room the usually silent Becca began laughing loudly.
Elizabeth and Poppy looked at each other, stunned.
‘Hmm,’ was all Elizabeth could say before she turned slowly and returned to her office.
Lying on the floor of the office from where he had leaped from the chair to on top of he couldn’t tell what, Ivan held his head in his hands until the room stopped spinning. He had a headache and had come to the conclusion that maybe chair spinning wasn’t his favourite any more. He watched groggily as Elizabeth entered her office and pushed the door closed behind her with her foot. He leaped from the floor and dived towards it, managing to squeeze his body between the gap before it shut. She wouldn’t be locking any doors on him today.
He sat in the (non-swivel) chair on front of Elizabeth’s desk and looked around the room. He felt like he was in a principal’s office waiting to be given out to. It had the atmosphere of a principal’s office, quiet and tense, and it smelled like one too, apart from the scent of Elizabeth’s perfume, which he loved so much. Ivan had been in a few headmasters’ offices with previous best friends so he knew well what that feeling was like. In training they were generally taught not to go to school with their best friends. There was really no need for them to be there and the rule was introduced because children were getting into trouble and parents were being called in. Instead they hung around outside and waited in the yard until break time. And even if the children chose not to play with them in the yard, they knew they were around, which gave them more confidence to play with the other kids. This was all a result of years of research but Ivan tended to ignore all those facts and statistics. If his best friend needed him at school, he’d be there and he sure wasn’t afraid of breaking any rules.
Elizabeth sat behind a large glass desk in an oversized black leather chair, dressed in a severe black suit. As far as he could see, that was all she seemed to wear. Black, brown and grey. So restrained and so very boring, boring, boring. The desk was immaculate, glistening and sparkling as though it had just been polished. All that was on it was a computer and keypad, a thick black diary and the work Elizabeth was huddled over, which looked to Ivan like some boring pieces of material cut into small squares. Everything else had been tidied away in black cabinets. There was absolutely nothing on display apart from framed photographs of rooms that Elizabeth had obviously decorated. As with the house there was no sign of a personality in the room. Just black, white and glass. He felt like he was in a spaceship. The principal’s office of a space ship.
Ivan yawned. She definitely was a gnirob. There were no photographs of family or friends, no cuddly toys sitting on the computer, and Ivan couldn’t see any sign of the picture Luke had drawn for her over the weekend. She had told him she would put it in her office. The only thing of interest was a collection of coffee mugs from Joe’s sitting on the windowsill. He bet Joe wouldn’t be happy about that.
He leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on the desk and stuck his face near hers. Her face was fixed in pure concentration, her forehead was smooth and no frown lines creased her skin like they usually did. Her glossy lips, which smelled to Ivan like strawberries, pursed and unpursed themselves gently. She hummed quietly to herself.
His opinion of her changed once again right then. She was no longer the headmistress he saw her as when she was among others; she had become peaceful, calm and untroubled, and unlike the way she normally was when she was thinking alone. He guessed it was because for once she wasn’t worrying. After watching her for a while, Ivan’s eyes drifted down to the piece of paper she was working on. Between her fingers she held a brown colouring pencil and was shading in a drawing of a bedroom.
Ivan’s eyes lit up. Colouring was by far his favourite. He stood up from the chair and made his way behind her so he could get a better look at what she was doing and to see if she was any good at staying between the lines. She was left-handed. He leaned over her shoulder and placed his arm on the desk beside her to steady himself. He was so close he could smell the coconut from her hair. He breathed in deeply and felt her hair tickle his nose.
Elizabeth stopped shading for a moment, closed her eyes, leaned her head back, relaxed her shoulders, took a deep breath and smiled softly to herself. Ivan did the same and felt her skin brush against his cheek. His body tingled. For a moment he felt odd, a nice kind of odd. Like the feeling he got when embraced in a warm hug and that was good because hugging was by far his favourite. He felt light-headed and a bit dizzy but nothing like the chair-spinning dizzy. This feeling was so much better. He held onto the feeling for a few minutes until eventually they opened their eyes at the same time and stared down at her drawing of a bedroom. Her hand moved over to the brown pencil as she decided whether or not to pick it up.
Ivan groaned softly. ‘Elizabeth, not brown again. Come on, go for some colour, like that lime green,’ he whispered into her ear, fully aware she couldn’t hear him.
Her fingers hovered over the pencil as though a magnetic force was stopping her from touching it. She moved slowly away from the chocolate- brown pencil and moved to the lime green. She smiled slightly as though amused by her choice and gingerly held the implement between her fingers as if it was for the first time. She moved it around in her fingers as though holding it felt alien to her. Slowly she began to shade in the scatter cushions on the bed, and the tassels on the curtain tiebacks, moving on to bigger pieces like the throw at the end of the bed and eventually the lounger in the corner of the room.
‘Much better,’ Ivan whispered, feeling proud.
Elizabeth smiled and closed her eyes again, breathing slowly and deeply.
There was suddenly a knock at the door. ‘Can I come in?’ Poppy sang.
Elizabeth’s eyes sprang open and dropped the offending pencil from her hand as though it were a dangerous weapon. ‘Yes,’ she called out, sitting back in the chair, her shoulder briefly brushing off Ivan’s chest. Elizabeth looked around behind her, touched her shoulder lightly with her hand and turned back to face Poppy, who was skipping into the room, eyes glistening with excitement.
‘OK, so Becca just told me you’ve got another meeting with the love hotel people.’ Her words skipped together as though she were singing a song.
Ivan sat down on the windowsill behind Elizabeth’s desk and stretched out his legs. They both folded their arms across their chests at the same time. Ivan smiled.
‘Poppy, please do not call it “the love hotel”,’ Elizabeth rubbed her eyes wearily. Ivan was disappointed. That gnirob voice was back.
‘OK, so the “hotel”, then,’ Poppy exaggerated the word. ‘I have some ideas. I’m thinking waterbeds in the shape of hearts, hot tubs, champagne flutes that rise fr
om the bedside lockers.’ She lowered her voice to an excited whisper. ‘I’m thinking the Romantic era meets art deco. Caspar David Friedrich meets Jean Dunand. It will be an explosion of rich reds, burgundys and wines that make you feel like you’re being embraced in a velvet-lined womb. Candles everywhere. French boudoir meets—’
‘Las Vegas,’ Elizabeth finished drily.
Poppy snapped out of her trance and her face fell in disappointment.
‘Poppy,’ Elizabeth sighed, ‘we’ve been through this before. I really think you should stick to the profile for this one.’
‘Ah,’ she fell back as though she’d been shot in the chest, ‘but the profile is so boring.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Ivan stood and applauded. ‘Gnirob,’ he said loudly into Elizabeth’s ear.
Elizabeth flinched and scratched at her ear. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way, Poppy, but unfortunately what you consider boring is how other people choose to decorate their homes. In liveable, comfortable, and calming environments. People don’t want to return home after a hard day’s work to a house that shouts dramatic statements from every beam or colours that give them a headache. With work environments so full of stress, people just want manageable, relaxing and peaceful homes.’ It was a speech she delivered to all of her customers. ‘And this is a hotel, Poppy. We need to appeal to all kinds of people and not just the few, the very few, in fact, that would like to reside in a velvet-lined womb,’ she added, deadpan.
‘Well, I don’t know many people that haven’t once resided in velvet-lined wombs, do you? I don’t think it rules out anyone, on this planet at least.’ She kept trying. ‘It might spark off some comforting memories for people.’
Elizabeth looked disgusted.
‘Elizabeth.’ Poppy groaned her name and dissolved dramatically into the chair in front of her. ‘There has to be something that you will let me put my stamp on. I just feel so constrained here, like my creative juices aren’t being allowed to flow and – oooh, that’s nice,’ she said chirpily, leaning over to look at the page in front of Elizabeth. ‘Chocolate and lime are really gorgeous together. What made you of all people go for that?’
Ivan returned to Elizabeth’s side and crouched down beside her, studying her face. Elizabeth stared at the sketch before her as if seeing it for the first time. She frowned but then her face softened. ‘I don’t know, actually. It just,’ she closed her eyes briefly, breathed deeply and remembered the feeling, ‘it just kind of… floated into my head suddenly.’
Poppy smiled and nodded excitedly. ‘You see, now you understand how it is for me. I can’t suppress my creativeness, you know? I know exactly what you mean. It’s such a natural instinctive thing,’ her eyes glistened and her voice lowered to a whisper, ‘like love.’
‘Hear, hear!’ Ivan repeated, watching Elizabeth, so close to her now his nose was almost touching her cheek, but this time it was a light whisper that blew Elizabeth’s loose hair softly around her ear.
Chapter 9
‘Poppy, did you call me?’ Elizabeth asked from under the mound of carpet samples piled on her desk later that day.
‘No, again,’ came the dull, bored reply. ‘And please refrain from disturbing me as I’m about to order two thousand pots of magnolia paint for our future projects. May as well be organised and plan ahead for the next twenty years,’ she muttered, then grumbled loud enough for Elizabeth to hear, ‘because it’s not as if we’re about to change our ideas any time soon.’
‘Oh, OK,’ Elizabeth smiled, giving in. ‘You can order another colour in too.’
Poppy almost fell off her chair with excitement.
‘Order a few hundred pots of beige as well, while you’re at it. “Barley” it’s called.’
‘Ha ha,’ Poppy said drily.
Ivan raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth. ‘Elizabeth, Elizabeth,’ he sang, ‘did you just make a funny? I think you did.’ He stared directly at her, elbows on the desk. He sighed, blowing the loose strands of her hair as he did so.
Elizabeth froze, moved her eye sockets from left to right suspiciously and then continued working.
‘Oh, see how she treats me?’ Ivan said dramatically, holding his hand to his forehead and pretending to faint onto a black leather chaise longue in the corner of the room. ‘It’s like I’m not even here,’ he declared. He put his feet up and stared at the ceiling. ‘Forget about being at a principal’s office, this is like being at a shrink’s.’ He stared at the cracks in the ceiling and put an American accent on. ‘You see, Doc, it all started when Elizabeth kept ignoring me,’ he said loudly in the room. ‘It just made me feel so unloved, so alone, so very, very alone. It’s like I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing,’ he exaggerated. ‘My life is a mess.’ He pretended to cry. ‘It’s all Elizabeth’s fault.’ He stopped and watched her for a while, matching carpets with fabrics and paint charts, and when he spoke again, his voice had returned to normal and he said softly, ‘But it is her fault that she can’t see me because she’s just too afraid to believe. Isn’t that right, Elizabeth?’
‘What?’ Elizabeth shouted again.
‘What do you mean, “what”?’ shouted back an irritated Poppy. ‘I didn’t say anything!’
‘You called me.’
‘No I didn’t, you’re hearing voices again, and please stop humming that bloody song!’ Poppy shrieked.
‘What song?’ Elizabeth frowned.
‘Whatever that thing is that you’ve been humming all morning. It’s driving me insane.’
‘Thank you very much!’ Ivan announced, standing up and taking a dramatic bow before plonking his body back down on the chaise longue. ‘I invented that song. Andrew Lloyd Webber, eat your heart out.’
Elizabeth continued working. She started humming again, then immediately stopped herself.
‘You see, Poppy,’ Ivan called into the other room, ‘I think Elizabeth can hear me.’ He crossed his hands over his chest and twiddled his thumbs. ‘I think she can hear me very well. Isn’t that right, Elizabeth?’
‘Christ Almighty.’ Elizabeth dropped the samples onto her desk. ‘Becca, is that you saying my name?’
‘No.’ Becca’s voice was barely audible.
Elizabeth’s face turned red and flustered-looking, embarrassed at appearing a fool in front of her employees. Trying to assert control again, she called out sternly, ‘Becca, can you get me a coffee from Joe’s?’
‘Oh, by the way,’ Ivan sang, enjoying himself, ‘don’t forget to tell her to take one of the mugs over with her. Joe will be pleased.’
‘Oh,’ Elizabeth snapped her fingers as though she’d just remembered something, ‘you might as well bring one of these with you.’ She handed Becca a coffee mug. ‘Joe will be,’ she paused and looked confused, ‘pleased.’
‘Oh, she can hear me alright,’ laughed Ivan. ‘She just won’t admit it to herself. That self-commanding mind of hers just won’t allow her to. Everything is black and white to her,’ then he added, ‘and beige. But I’m going to shake things up a bit around here and we are going to have some fun. Ever done that before, Elizabeth? Had fun?’ His eyes danced with mischief.
He swung his legs off the chaise longue and jumped upright. He sat on the edge of Elizabeth’s desk and glanced at the printouts of the online information about imaginary friends. He tutted and shook his head. ‘No, you don’t believe all that gobbledegook, do you, Lizzie? Can I call you Lizzie?’
Elizabeth’s face flinched.
‘Oh,’ Ivan said gently, ‘you don’t like being called Lizzie, do you?’
Elizabeth swallowed softly.
He lay across the desk on top of all the carpet samples and rested his head on his hand. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you,’ he lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘I’m real. And I’m not going anywhere until you open those eyes properly and see me.’
Elizabeth stopped fiddling with the paint charts and raised her eyes slowly. She looked around her office and then settled on staring straight ahead of her. For some reason
she felt calm, calmer than she had felt in a very long time. She was stuck in a trance, staring at nothing but unable to blink or look away, feeling surrounded by warmth and security.
Suddenly the door to her office sprung open, so quickly and forcefully that the handle crashed against the wall. Elizabeth and Ivan jolted in fright.
‘Oooh, well excuse me for interrupting the lovebirds,’ Saoirse cackled from the door.
Ivan jumped off the desk.
Elizabeth, mystified, immediately started to tidy her desk, a natural panicked reflex to her at the unannounced arrival of her younger sister. She smoothed down her jacket and pushed her palms over her hair.
‘Oh, don’t tidy up on my account.’ Saoirse waved her hand dismissively, chewing quickly on a piece of gum. ‘You’re such a fusspot, you know. Just chill.’ Her eyes moved up and down as she examined the area beside Elizabeth’s desk suspiciously. ‘So aren’t you going to introduce me?’
Elizabeth examined her sister through narrow eyes. Saoirse made her nervous with her neurotic behaviour and sporadic tantrums. Alcohol or no alcohol, Saoirse had always been the same – difficult. In fact Elizabeth could hardly tell when she was drunk or sober. Saoirse had never found herself; she had never grown into a personality or learned about who she was, what she wanted, what made her happy or where she wanted to go in life. She still didn’t know. She was a concoction of personalities never allowed to develop. Elizabeth wondered who her sister could be if she ever managed to stop drinking. She feared it would only be one problem less on a list of many.
It was so rare that Elizabeth could get Saoirse on her own in a room to talk to her – like, as a child alone in the fields, trying to catch a butterfly in a jar. They were so beautiful to look at, brightened up a room but never settled on anything for long enough to be caught. Elizabeth was forever chasing and when she did manage to catch her sister, Saoirse would all the time be fluttering her wings in panic, wanting to get away.