If You Could See Me Now (11 page)

Ivan saw her look around the office to see if anyone else was present. She frowned, approached the desk as if she were navigating around landmines, and placed her bag on the desk ever so quietly as if afraid to disturb the chair. She looked around to see if anyone was watching and then tiptoed over to study it. She held out her hands as though trying to tame a wild horse.

Ivan chuckled.

Seeing that nothing was wrong, Becca scratched her head in wonder. Perhaps Elizabeth had been sitting in the chair before she came in. She smirked at the thought of Elizabeth swinging around like a child, hair tied back tightly, dressed in one of her sharp black suits, with her sensible shoes dangling in the air. No, the picture didn’t
fit. In Elizabeth’s world, chairs were made to be sat on. So that’s exactly what Becca did and got to work immediately.

“Good morning, everyone,” a high-pitched voice sang from the door later that morning. A plum-haired Poppy danced into the room dressed in denim
flares with embroidered
flowers, platform shoes, and a tie-dyed T-shirt. As usual, every inch of her body was splashed with paint. “Everyone have a nice weekend?” She was always singing her sentences and dancing around the room,
flinging her arms around with all the gracefulness of an elephant.

Becca nodded.

“Great.” She stood in front of Becca with her hands on her hips. “What did you do, Becca, join a debating team? Go out on a date and talk the ear off some bloke? Huh?”

Becca turned the page of the book she was reading and ignored her.

“Wow, that’s fabulous, sounds like a blast. You know I really do love the banter we have in this office.”

Becca turned a page.

“Oh, really? Well that’s enough information for now if you don’t mind— What the . . . ?” She whipped her body away from Becca’s desk and was silent.

Becca didn’t look up from the book she was reading. “It’s been doing that all morning,” she said in a quiet, bored tone. “Mine was too, but it stopped.”

This time it was Poppy’s turn to remain quiet.

There was silence in the office for a few minutes while Becca read her book and Poppy stared at the sight ahead of her. In her office, Elizabeth heard the long silence between the two and stuck her head out of her doorway.

“Everything all right, girls?” Elizabeth asked, looking around.

A mystery squeaking sound was all that replied.

“Poppy?”

She didn’t move her head as she spoke. “The chair.”

Elizabeth stepped out of her office. She turned her head in the same direction. The paint-splattered chair behind Poppy’s desk that Elizabeth had been trying to convince Poppy to get rid of for months was
Flying around and around all by itself, the screws squeaking loudly. Poppy let out a nervous laugh. They both moved closer to examine it. Becca was still reading her book in silence as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Becca.” Elizabeth half laughed. “Have you seen this?”

Becca still didn’t lift her eyes from the page. “It’s been doing that for the past hour,” she said softly. “It just stops and starts all the time.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Is it some sort of new artistic creation of yours, Poppy?”

“I wish it was,” Poppy replied, still in awe.

They all watched it spin in silence.
Squeak, squeak, squeak.

“Maybe I should call Harry, it’s probably something to do with the screws,” Elizabeth reasoned.

Poppy raised her eyebrows uncertainly. “Yeah, I’m sure the
screws
are making it spin out of control,” she said sarcastically, gazing in wonder at the whirling multicolored chair.

Elizabeth picked an imaginary piece of
fluff from her jacket and cleared her throat. “You know, Poppy, you really need to get your chair reupholstered; it’s not a very positive sight for when customers come to see us. I’m sure Gwen will do it quickly for you.”

Poppy’s eyes widened. “But it’s supposed to be like that, it’s an expression of personality, an extension of myself. It’s the only item I can project myself onto in this room.” She looked around in disgust. “This fucking
beige
room.” She said the word like it was a disease. “And
Mrs. Bracken
spends more time gossiping with those pals of hers that have nothing else to do but drop by every day, than on actual work.”

“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 color 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, arms folded, heads cocked to one side, and looking thoughtful, as though studying a piece of art in a museum, while the chair continued to spin in front of them.

Suddenly, the chair jumped and the screen beside Poppy’s desk went crashing to the
floor. The three women jumped and 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, where he had landed after leaping from the chair, 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 favorite so much anymore. He watched dizzily as Elizabeth entered her office and pushed the door closed behind her with her foot. He jumped from the
floor
and dived toward 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 in front of Elizabeth’s desk and looked around the room. He felt like he was in the 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 that 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 before the rule was introduced, 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 child chose not to play with the best friend 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. He and the rest of his colleagues didn’t see them as rules so much as guidelines, so if his best friend needed him at school, he’d be there.

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 gray. 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 spaceship.

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 as 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, unlike 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 coloring pencil and was shading in a drawing of a bedroom.

Ivan’s eyes lit up. Coloring was by far his favorite. 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 favorite. He felt light-headed and a bit dizzy but nothing like the chair-spinning dizzy, this feeling was so much better. He held on to 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 tried to decide whether or not to pick it up.

Ivan groaned softly, “Elizabeth, not brown again. Come on, go for some color, 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 were 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 pencil between her
fingers as if it were 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 pull-backs, 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 she 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 past 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 water beds in the shape of hearts, hot tubs, champagne
flutes that rise from 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, burgundy, 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.