think I’d want to have a baby with Robert, however old I was. The man is such a stiff. Pompous, arrogant, always right. He’d drive me crazy.’
‘As the father of your baby?’
‘As anything.’ She stopped, looked at Matt and then laughed. ‘You know, you’re right, settling for okay and convenient should never be an option.’
Matt smiled broadly as if all this was a personal triumph. ‘See,’ he said. ‘You’re doing the right thing, you’re just hurt at the moment.’
‘Trust me, Matt, just hurt doesn’t anywhere near cover it, but this is the right thing. Robert wanting a family is a perfectly reasonable thing to want, but not with me. Oh, and on top of all that it looks like I’m going to be a granny,’ she said. ‘A granny – can you believe it?’ And to her horror, Susie heard her voice crack and then break.
‘Really? A granny? Wow. Congratulations,’ Matt said with a grin, looking across just as she started to cry. ‘That’s amazing. Oh no, don’t,’ he said, reaching out towards her. ‘Don’t cry, I think it’s wonderful.’
Milo started to fret too; he hated women crying.
‘Easy for you to say,’ Susie snorted, brushing the tears away, stooping down to clip Milo’s lead on. ‘It’s not you it’s happening to. I’m really pleased for Alice but it makes me feel so – so –’
‘Old?’ suggested Matt helpfully.
Susie glared at him furiously, struggling with the temptation to punch him as well as Robert. ‘No, not old,’ she snapped. ‘It feels kind of responsible. Granny sounds like a really big thing to be, and I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m really pleased about it for Alice’s sake, but the word doesn’t fit me, it doesn’t go with how I see myself at all. I can’t be a granny. I’m just getting my own life together,’ she said, blowing her nose. ‘I’m not grown-up enough to be a granny.’
Matt looked at her, his expression softening. ‘Granny, eh? I really loved my granny, she used to knit me woolly hats and buy me jelly babies – how are you with Fair Isle?’
Susie slapped his arm. ‘It’s not funny,’ she snorted. ‘And I’m not going to be that sort of granny.’
‘Shame,’ Matt said with a grin. ‘I really miss her.’
Despite the early-morning confessional and having to deal with puffy eyes and heavy-duty bags, Susie got to college on time, not really wanting to share any more girly heart-to-heart time with Matt, despite his offer to make her tea and fix her a full English breakfast. He was officially perfect, and at that time of the morning a bit bloody irritating.
‘How’re you feeling?’ asked Nina, her expression all concern and empathy, as Susie bowled in through the door to the main studio. The aroma of fresh coffee and turpentine greeted her like an old friend.
‘Why is everyone obsessed with how I feel?’ she growled, taking the mug Nina had in her hand.
‘Eyeliner and lippy first thing?’ said Nina. ‘Trust me, it speaks volumes.’
‘Okay. Truth? I’m in bits, with a pain in my chest the size of a London bus, but I’ll be fine. Just fine. Eventually. I just need to occupy my mind till then.’
‘How long do you think that’ll be?’
‘Six months, a year, who knows.’ Susie took a long pull on the coffee before handing it back. ‘God, that’s good. Any more in the pot? And besides, Robert was a shit.’
Nina nodded. ‘Well, yes, we all knew that, but he was your shit. And yes, there’s more coffee. Have you forgotten? Tuesday morning meeting? Posh coffee and good biscuits. We’ve got a budget for it.’
Susie laughed. That’s what real friends were for – to support you when you made stupid choices and then help pick up the pieces when it all went horribly wrong. ‘So, where are we with the master plan?’
‘Follow me,’ said Nina, beckoning her closer with a hooked finger.
Tuesday morning and the regular staff meeting – they were meant to be discussing progress for the arrangements for the departmental end-of-year exhibition, which was less than a month away. Truth was, as always, it fell squarely on the shoulders of those that did, the ones that talked a good game having long since vanished over the horizon – and that meant it always seemed to be the same faces gathered around the big art-room table.
‘Where’s everyone else?’ asked Susie, sliding her bag under the desk.
‘Traffic, bus strike, leaves on the line, dog ate their homework,’ said Nina, counting the excuses off on paint-stained fingers. ‘God only knows. I’m only on time because I walked here.’ She glanced down at her watch. ‘You should know by now. They’re all artists, darling; time is not what they do best.’
‘Robert used to say that, and he works for the Environment Agency.’
Nina pulled a face.
‘So, how’s it going then?’ asked Susie.
Nina pulled a sheet of A1 paper out of a folder and slid it across the workbench towards Susie. On it were drawn a series of cubicles, bays, display boards and plinths, with numbered stickers on each one. Nina took a notebook out of the desk drawer and opened it up to the first page.
‘It’s filling up nicely,’ she said, pointing to bay number one. ‘Ceramics, mostly blue dishes and those great big garden pots. Bay two we’ve got slumped glassware and some lizards.’
Susie sipped her coffee. ‘What I meant was, instead of talking about me, how’s it going generally, you know, as in life?’
‘Oh, that? Generally? Fine. Specifically? Not bad at all, just finished grouting the bathroom, cat had kittens, and as for how the end-of-year show looks, it will make everyone look fucking marvellous. Again. What else do you want to know?’
Susie decided to give up on the social niceties and get on with the job in hand. She pulled the sheet of paper nearer and cast a world-weary eye over the floor plan. ‘Once we’ve put in god knows how many hours overtime, chased up the work, hung it, lit it, manned the bloody thing and resisted the temptation to strangle the sideline whiners, you mean?’
Nina grinned. ‘Exactly. By the way, have you heard from Hill’s Nurseries yet? You know, flowers, plants, ambiance, style?’
‘Bugger me, I’d forgotten all about them. Good news is I have done a skeleton press release, though, we just need to add the names in. I’ll chase the nursery up. I’m really hoping that they’ll stump up some sort of floral display outside the main foyer. I mean, it’s great advertising for them and we send enough slave labour their way from the floristry department.’
‘The college prefer to call it work placement,’ said a male voice from the back of the art room.
Susie looked up and grinned at Austin, their head of department, who was heading in through the glass doorway. He was a man who had made his way up through the ranks. An artist first and foremost, Austin wore his administrator’s hat at as jaunty an angle as was possible to achieve while keeping the machinery oiled. He had the look of a rugged, earthier Melvyn Bragg and was not only
