Love Your Enemies (16 page)

She shrugged and this movement tipped a hundred tiny rain-drops snailing down her mac. ‘Well, I thought it’d need to be quite wide and very long if it was for a coffin. I didn’t know whether you’d line the lid as well so I got extra.’

He looked at her sharply. ‘Good point.’

He hadn’t got round to considering this yet himself. Then he said uncomfortably, ‘I’d forgotten that I’d mentioned that it was for my …’ – he paused – ‘… the coffin.’

She looked past him and towards the kettle, from which steam was now emerging, ‘Yes, you did. Do you mind if I take my mac off? I’m a bit damp.’

He reached out a hand for the mac, slung it over the draining board and then removed two mugs from underneath it with one hand. She said, ‘Let me take the material and get it out of harm’s way. You don’t want to spill coffee on it or get it wet.’

He gave her the bag and said, ‘Put it on the sofa in the living room. I’ll bring the coffee through.’

She nodded. ‘Milk, no sugar please,’ and moved off in the direction he’d indicated.

John switched off the kettle and made the coffee. He felt jittery and nervous. He was embarrassed by the idea of having a strange woman in his home, but was even more uneasy when he considered the scrawled message that he’d accidentally acquired the previous day. Suddenly it was very important to him that she should not think that she could see through him again. He was determined to be something more than what she had seen the day before, to create a new life out of nothing for himself before he died, to become something significant, something exceptional and extraordinary. He picked up the coffee cups and padded into the living room.

Melissa was sitting on the sofa paging through one of his coffee-table design books. She had turned the radio off. She looked up, smiled and reached out her hand for the coffee. He tried not to spill any when he passed it to her. She said, ‘You’ve got a weird set-up here. A lot of the young designers that I know work from home. Have you only just got started?’

He shook his head quickly. ‘No. Well, yes. I used to work for someone else and now I’ve set up on my own. This is one of my first private commissions, so it’s all a bit perfunctory.’

She smiled. ‘That shows great initiative.’

He tried not to let her patronizing tone affect his expression. She frowned. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound patronizing. I suppose I’m just a bit jealous. I’d love to have the nerve to do something like this; you know, to be independent and creative. I don’t really have the gumption.’ She paused and then said, ‘I made this shirt I’m wearing myself.’ He studied the shirt. It was rather unusual but well-tailored in a purple silky material. He said, ‘It’s nice.’ She shrugged and sipped her coffee.

He felt slightly strange talking about someone else for a change, given that his thoughts had become so charged and introspective over the past few days. He relaxed. ‘No, I mean it. It’s very stylish. It’s just as smart as anything that you see in the shops. It’s certainly a lot better made than most stuff you can buy.’

She smiled. He could see by the confidence in her eyes that he had won her over. She was now at her ease and believed the entire situation to be as it seemed. She said, ‘I can’t deny that I was surprised when you said that you made coffins the other day.’

He leaned against the work-bench and warmed his hands on his cup. ‘Oh yeah? Didn’t I fit neatly into whatever categorizations you have for carpenters or coffin makers?’

She shook her head and had the good grace to appear embarrassed. ‘Maybe I should be honest about this.’

He raised his eyebrows – he hoped encouragingly – and she continued, ‘Well, we play a lot of silly jokes in the shop, otherwise we get bored. Steve had dared me that I wouldn’t be able to guess the profession of the next person who came into the shop. I know this sounds silly. The next person that came into the shop who I didn’t already know was, well, was you and I thought on first impressions that you were a salesman or something. You have a very smooth, confident voice.’

John smiled. ‘But you were wrong.’

She smiled back. ‘I guess so.’

After a few seconds John put his coffee cup down and picked up the bag of material from the sofa. He touched it again and said, ‘If I was going to sleep for ever I’d want this softness to surround me. It’s incredible.’

Melissa nodded. She said warmly, ‘I’m really keen to know what you are intending to do with it.’

He suddenly felt very shy. ‘It’s not all that interesting.’ He loved the feel of the material but hadn’t really fitted it as yet into the great scheme of things. He stared at it for a moment, then his heart lifted and he said, ‘In fact this is quite incredible. Yesterday when I saw this material I didn’t really have the first clue about what design I was going to use for this piece. I was just drawn to it because it was gorgeous. But last night I made a few plans without even considering this fabric
as a part of the scheme, and believe it or not, it fits in perfectly. It’s fantastic!’

He walked over to his drawings and illustrations on the wall. ‘In my design I’m attempting to create something unusual and beautiful that is both about the physical and …’ he paused, ‘… the metaphysical.’ She frowned, ‘I don’t get it.’

He thought for a moment and then ran one of his hands through his hair, slicking it back and pulling out some of the tangles. Then he stopped what he was doing and held out his hand to her and wiggled his fingers, ‘What’s this?’

She stared at him incredulously. ‘It’s your hand.’

He nodded. ‘Right, it’s my hand, but it has the capacity to be many things. Just now I used it as a comb. My separate fingers were individual spokes, each one brushing my hair into place.’ He picked up his coffee and tipped a small amount into his cupped palm. Some of it dribbled down his arm. The coffee was still very hot, but he didn’t seem to feel it. He said, ‘What is it now?’

She shrugged. ‘Is it a cup? Or a bowl?’

He nodded. ‘That’s it! That’s the idea. Well, what I want to do with my coffin design is the same sort of thing. The design has a physical aspect – it encloses a body, a dead body – but it also has another purpose, a purpose beyond its practical use.’

She frowned again. ‘Like what? Like to look attractive, or what?’

He smiled, exhilarated, ‘Yes, to look attractive, but also to be ironic, to point back at itself and say “So much has been said about death, but this is a parody of death, makes light of death, makes death into something concrete and individual.”’

He paused for a moment. ‘I’m not making much sense, am I?’

She grimaced. ‘Ever so slightly. Maybe it’s possible to make comparisons in the worlds of art or fashion. In our shop the clothes we make and sell are very extrovert and unusual. A
lot of them are impractical, loud, brash, silly. People have to be very adventurous to wear them; flashy, I suppose. In many ways though, the clothes really make fun of themselves, make fun of fashion. They
are
fashionable, yet they are individual. They are extreme. They take designs and shapes that other people might wear and they exaggerate them, make fun of them, they take everything to the extreme, to the point at which they become totally silly and impractical.’

She stopped. ‘I’m talking nonsense.’

He laughed. ‘We both are.’

While she had been talking he had been sipping the coffee out of his palm. His hand was now wet and he wiped it on his trousers. ‘I tell you what. I’ve got a bottle of wine in the kitchen, do you want to share it? I feel like a drink.’

Although somewhat surprised by his sudden sociability, Melissa nodded her head keenly – ‘I’d love to’ – and watched him as he left the room and then listened to his various clatterings out in the kitchen. He returned with an open bottle of red and two glasses. As he poured he said, ‘When you think about the sort of fashion that your shop promotes you have to think about the fact that you are fashion leaders. Fashion always starts off with extreme ideas which are eventually modified into the mainstream.’

Melissa nodded and stood up to get her glass of wine, ‘I suppose coffins – the idea of them – hasn’t been very controversial for a good while.’

He took a sip of his wine and grimaced. ‘I suppose not. But if you think back to the time when tombs in churches were designed to be as showy as possible, when small amounts of wealth and fame were sufficient justification for a life-sized stone sculpture of the person attached to the lid of the stone coffin … I suppose in those instances though the idea of the coffin as a box and the headstone as a spectacle had become enmeshed.’

Melissa said quickly, ‘Yes, but think about the Egyptians
for example. I remember the big Tutankhamen exhibition from when I was a tiny kid – with all those great gold and enamel sarcophaguses – they probably took coffin design as far as it’s possible to go.’

John nodded his agreement and leaned against his woodwork table again. ‘What I want to do is in many ways a contradiction of that extravagance and that idealization of death. By being excessive I almost feel as though those tomb-makers were in a stage of denial. They wanted to deny the fact that death changes everything. They wanted things to remain as before.’

As he spoke he stared into Melissa’s eyes, which seemed very lively. She was grinning vivaciously.

‘Maybe you think I’m talking rubbish? This is all really just off the top of my head.’

Her grin diminished slightly, ‘No, I think it’s fascinating. Do you give as much thought to all the pieces you make?’

John felt momentarily restricted. ‘I believe in giving my all, however much that amounts to. In many ways I suppose that the idea is the most important thing. Once you’ve thought about something, taken a stance, made plans, that’s half the battle won.’

Melissa’s smile returned. She said, ‘I know exactly what you mean there. It’s like a commitment, a state of mind. Sometimes that’s all that matters. It’s like goodwill.’

John frowned slightly and walked over to add an extra tack to the corner of one of his pictures on the wall, ‘Well, it’s more like an intention really, a decision to act, to change things mentally so that they are changed in fact; a tiny alteration of mental perspective and the whole world is different.’

They stared at each other for a moment, both confused. Melissa quickly looked at her watch and then drained her glass, ‘I think I’d probably better get going before I hit the rush hour on the tube. I live quite a good way away.’

John nodded. ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you again. I really must repay you for that material. I bet it cost a fortune.’

As he spoke he disappeared from the room and returned holding her damp mac. Melissa stood up and took it from him. She said, ‘It wasn’t cheap. The receipt’s in the bag.’

He found it and took out his wallet, giving her a couple of notes. He said, ‘You can’t imagine how grateful I am. It’s been great chatting to you, a real distraction. You’ve really helped me to crystallize my thoughts. I feel all focused and purposeful!’

Melissa smiled and put on her coat. She said, ‘I’d love to pop round again and see how it’s going, even though I haven’t quite clarified in my mind what on earth it is that you’re intending to do.’

John escorted her to the door. ‘Come any time. I’d really like you to drop by again. Thanks for everything.’

He opened the door for her. His face ached from smiling. Melissa turned and waved goodbye. After he’d closed the door, John leant against it and held on to the handle. He closed his eyes and his face shone with sweat.

The following day, Steve wanted to know all about the previous afternoon. When Melissa arrived in the morning she had a great air of self-satisfaction and smugness. She was wearing a dress that she had designed and made herself which he had not seen before. He slouched against the changing room curtains and appraised her as she took off her coat and checked her make-up. ‘That’s a new frock. Nice. How did it go yesterday?’

Melissa smiled. ‘I made this myself. It went well. He’s a really nice guy, strange but nice. We had a good chat.’

Steve grinned, ‘What about, the art of coffin-making?’

Melissa shrugged, ‘Joke if you want. There’s a lot more to him than meets the eye.’

Steve stopped grinning and began to look interested. He said incredulously, ‘You didn’t get off with him?’

Melissa squealed, ‘Of course I bloody didn’t. It’s not like that.’

‘Well, what is it like?’ he interrupted.

She looked sceptical and remote, ‘It’s none of your business, Steve, it’s private. Anyway, I’d feel silly telling you, I think you’d laugh at me.’

He tried to stop looking frivolous and lowered his voice in an attempt at sincerity. ‘Go on, tell me. Of course I won’t make fun of you. I’m really interested.’

She paused a moment and then fiddled for a second with the hem on her dress. ‘Well, it’s like… I don’t know … it’s like we’ve got so much in common. It’s sort of an attitude of mind, a creative sincerity, an intensity. It’s like we’re very similar as people. We want the same things. He made me feel inspired.’

Steve watched her very closely and then said, ‘Be honest, do you fancy the guy?’

She shook her head, ‘No, I don’t, he’s nice but that’s all. It’s more than that. It’s like we think in the same way. He says a lot of things that really reflect how I feel. He’s really interesting.’

Someone came into the shop and browsed around. As he kept an eye on them Steve said quietly, ‘Are you going to see him again then?’ She nodded. ‘Eventually.’ Then she picked up her copy of
Vogue
.

That morning John stayed in bed until ten. The previous night he’d worked without pause until the early hours and he awoke feeling worn and drained. Since the beginning of his illness he’d found the start of the day increasingly arduous and impossible. Nevertheless, on awakening he struggled up and slung on the previous day’s clothes – which were ingrained with sawdust and grime – and set off downstairs to make some tea and to get work underway.

The previous evening he’d negotiated the intricate process
of creating a smooth circular shape out of one of his big blocks; a perfect curve to mirror the crude curve of the wood but more exact, manmade. It had been a complicated and painstaking procedure but already he was making progress and was optimistic.