wince as they touch my bruised flesh. ‘I didn’t . . . know what to do.’
‘You could have talked to someone about it. So – no one knows?’ He looks incredulous. I take a breath.
‘Cathy knows. And – well, Ben.’
‘Ben?’ Jay makes a loud clicking sound with his tongue. ‘You told Ben but you didn’t tell me? Or your mum?’
Ben has the studio next to me. He’s a photographer, an old friend of Jay’s from college, that’s how I heard about the studio in the first place. We have tea most days. Ben wears woolly jumpers and loves Jaffa Cakes, like me; he’s a very comforting person to be working next to all day, like a shaggy dog, or a nice old lady who runs a sweet shop. I cried all over him the day after Oli left.
‘You should have told us about this, not Ben ,’ Jay says. ‘Should have kept it in the family.’
Jay does have a tendency to talk like a Corleone. ‘Oh, Jay, honestly.’ He is frowning. ‘I couldn’t! And then Granny died, like, a week later. I’m hardly going to email everyone and go, “See you at the funeral, and by the way? I’m separated from my husband, fill you in then!”’
Jay shakes his head. ‘You’re mental.’ He gets up and stares out of the window, then turns to me. ‘Nat, it’s me. OK? It’s me. Of course you should have told me. I – I’m here for you, you know that?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I know you are. I just couldn’t.’ My eyes are filling with tears. Jay squeezes his watch in his hands; I hear the links of the metal strap clinking together.
‘Sometimes . . . I just feel like I don’t know you any more,’ he says, after a pause. ‘You’re a different person these days, Nat. Quiet, subdued. You’re not yourself.’
I don’t look at him. I don’t want to talk about it, to acknowledge that he might be right, how wrong everything is. ‘I spend a lot of time on my own,’ I say, blankly. ‘In the studio, at home.’
He shakes his head. ‘That’s not it. I feel like you . . . you’re sad, and I don’t know why.’ He puts his finger under my chin. ‘Nat. What’s the meeting tomorrow about?’
I’m silent. He looks at me, and the kindness and concern in his eyes are like pains in my heart. It’s just easier if he doesn’t care. If he leaves me alone.
‘It’s with the bank.’ I stare back at him, hugging myself. ‘It’s not good.’
‘How come?’
My voice is croaky. ‘I’ve defaulted on my loans. They want to take me t-to court.’ Jay opens his mouth, shocked. ‘I’m probably going to lose the business. It’s not working. Well – it’s me. I’m not working.’ I swallow.
‘Yes – yes, you are!’ Jay says, in outrage. ‘You’re brilliant, Nat!’
‘I’m honestly not,’ I say. ‘Not any more. Don’t think I ever was. I haven’t drawn anything for months.’
‘But you’re always – you’ve always had your pencil going, sketching something –’ he waves his hand round, indicating, here, here – ‘coming up with some design for a tiara when you were a kid, some earrings, a ring – you love that stuff! You’re brilliant!’ He says it again, and it just sounds hollow.
I touch his hand. ‘I can’t do it any more. I don’t know why.’ I look down, I can’t bear to meet his gaze. ‘I’ve got no new ideas. And the stuff that’s out there already – no one’s buying it. The business, me, it’s all –’ I take a deep breath, to steady myself – ‘it’s screwed. Not that the website doesn’t look beautiful, Jay.’ I want to reassure him of that. ‘It’s just we’re in a recession. People aren’t treating themselves to a nice bracelet from some jewellery designer they’ve never heard of.’
Jay looks bewildered. ‘But you’re going places, you’ve had your stuff in magazines, that celebrity girl wore your necklace thing? I don’t understand.’
‘That was ages ago. And I got too big for my boots,’ I say. I am trying to sound chipper, but I am very scared. This is my job.
‘You could have talked to someone about it. So – no one knows?’ He looks incredulous. I take a breath.
‘Cathy knows. And – well, Ben.’
‘Ben?’ Jay makes a loud clicking sound with his tongue. ‘You told Ben but you didn’t tell me? Or your mum?’
Ben has the studio next to me. He’s a photographer, an old friend of Jay’s from college, that’s how I heard about the studio in the first place. We have tea most days. Ben wears woolly jumpers and loves Jaffa Cakes, like me; he’s a very comforting person to be working next to all day, like a shaggy dog, or a nice old lady who runs a sweet shop. I cried all over him the day after Oli left.
‘You should have told us about this, not Ben ,’ Jay says. ‘Should have kept it in the family.’
Jay does have a tendency to talk like a Corleone. ‘Oh, Jay, honestly.’ He is frowning. ‘I couldn’t! And then Granny died, like, a week later. I’m hardly going to email everyone and go, “See you at the funeral, and by the way? I’m separated from my husband, fill you in then!”’
Jay shakes his head. ‘You’re mental.’ He gets up and stares out of the window, then turns to me. ‘Nat, it’s me. OK? It’s me. Of course you should have told me. I – I’m here for you, you know that?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I know you are. I just couldn’t.’ My eyes are filling with tears. Jay squeezes his watch in his hands; I hear the links of the metal strap clinking together.
‘Sometimes . . . I just feel like I don’t know you any more,’ he says, after a pause. ‘You’re a different person these days, Nat. Quiet, subdued. You’re not yourself.’
I don’t look at him. I don’t want to talk about it, to acknowledge that he might be right, how wrong everything is. ‘I spend a lot of time on my own,’ I say, blankly. ‘In the studio, at home.’
He shakes his head. ‘That’s not it. I feel like you . . . you’re sad, and I don’t know why.’ He puts his finger under my chin. ‘Nat. What’s the meeting tomorrow about?’
I’m silent. He looks at me, and the kindness and concern in his eyes are like pains in my heart. It’s just easier if he doesn’t care. If he leaves me alone.
‘It’s with the bank.’ I stare back at him, hugging myself. ‘It’s not good.’
‘How come?’
My voice is croaky. ‘I’ve defaulted on my loans. They want to take me t-to court.’ Jay opens his mouth, shocked. ‘I’m probably going to lose the business. It’s not working. Well – it’s me. I’m not working.’ I swallow.
‘Yes – yes, you are!’ Jay says, in outrage. ‘You’re brilliant, Nat!’
‘I’m honestly not,’ I say. ‘Not any more. Don’t think I ever was. I haven’t drawn anything for months.’
‘But you’re always – you’ve always had your pencil going, sketching something –’ he waves his hand round, indicating, here, here – ‘coming up with some design for a tiara when you were a kid, some earrings, a ring – you love that stuff! You’re brilliant!’ He says it again, and it just sounds hollow.
I touch his hand. ‘I can’t do it any more. I don’t know why.’ I look down, I can’t bear to meet his gaze. ‘I’ve got no new ideas. And the stuff that’s out there already – no one’s buying it. The business, me, it’s all –’ I take a deep breath, to steady myself – ‘it’s screwed. Not that the website doesn’t look beautiful, Jay.’ I want to reassure him of that. ‘It’s just we’re in a recession. People aren’t treating themselves to a nice bracelet from some jewellery designer they’ve never heard of.’
Jay looks bewildered. ‘But you’re going places, you’ve had your stuff in magazines, that celebrity girl wore your necklace thing? I don’t understand.’
‘That was ages ago. And I got too big for my boots,’ I say. I am trying to sound chipper, but I am very scared. This is my job.
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