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Six Years Before I Do
Audrey arrived at Benedict’s gallery walking on air. After the life-changing afternoon spent with Fred the day before and the promise of seeing him again this afternoon, nothing could dampen her mood, not even a morning with Benedict. She only had three hours to wait until she would see Fred again, at their photo booth. She had taken care with her appearance. She was wearing black jeans, a plain blue blouse, a little make-up, and her hair was styled in loose curls. She felt attractive, rapturous about life. Today was the beginning of everything.
Benedict had made an effort to be nice to her since the night of the engagement. He bought her favourite caramel macchiatos from the coffee place on the corner, asked her questions about her upcoming exam, and had taken to smiling at her in a strange, avuncular way. She tried her best to avoid him. She’d even started looking for somewhere else to live, but it wasn’t easy. Now that she’d dropped out of her course, she wasn’t eligible for student accommodation. She needed to pass her Maths A level, apply for Astronomy, then she could request to live in the university halls. What would happen if she didn’t pass the exam? That wasn’t something she liked to think about.
On Thursday, Benedict had cornered her in the hall, holding out yet another white flag of caramel-flavoured coffee.
‘Look, Audrey,’ he’d said, ‘I think we might have got off on the wrong foot. I know how much it would mean to Vivien if you and I rubbed along together a little better.’ He paused, still holding out the cup. Grudgingly, she took it. ‘Would you let me take you out, to an exhibition or something, just the two of us? I think if you got to know me, you might not think me such a bad egg.’
Her instinct was to shoot back a hard ‘no’. But then she took a breath and thought of her mother, and the wounded look on her face that night in the kitchen. Whether she lived here or not, Benedict was now a necessary irritation in her life, like mosquitos on a Mediterranean holiday. So, she agreed. She could endure an hour of walking around a gallery with him, in the name of diplomacy.
Now, as she peered through the locked doors of the gallery, she regretted agreeing to meet at his exhibition; it wasn’t neutral ground. Besides, the place seemed closed, there was no one else here. She turned to look down the street and recognised Benedict’s bear-like gait before his face came into view.
‘It’s closed,’ she called, with a theatrical shrug.
Benedict just grinned and waved a bunch of keys.
‘It isn’t open to the public on Sundays, but I have the keys.’
Audrey’s stomach tensed. She would never have agreed to a private viewing, just the two of them, it was far too... too what? What was she worried about? She couldn’t name it, but the idea made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was still the memory of him standing in the doorway of her bathroom, his eyes on her body that moment too long.
‘I thought we were going to an open gallery, with other people.’ She frowned.
‘Better to see the art this way. No distractions,’ he said, holding open the door for her.
He was so confident and smiley in that moment, it would have been hard to say no without causing offence, and she was here to make peace.
Inside, once he’d turned the lights on and Audrey took in the sculptures dotted around the gallery floor, her anxiety slowly began to ebb away. There were giant abstracts of the female form, finished in gold, bronze and pewter. Magnificent pieces, emanating femininity and strength, all soft, fluid lines in hard metal. Each piece was huge, twice the size of a real person, yet there was a lightness to each of them, as though the figures were about to burst forth into motion. She had seen images of Benedict’s work in brochures he left around the house, but seeing them in real life was an entirely different experience. She walked up close to one, marvelling.
‘They’re so much bigger than I imagined they would be. These are all yours?’
‘My life’s work,’ he said proudly. ‘In the next room are some pieces from my protégés, but these are all mine.’
He walked her around, telling her about each one. Hearing him talk about his work, the impression she had of Benedict began to change. When he discussed art, his passion was infectious. He was clearly incredibly talented, and she felt oddly privileged that he was taking the time to tell her about each sculpture in so much detail.
As they stood in front of a piece named Emergence, Benedict pointed out an abstract shoulder bone. In one sense it was just an angle of golden metal, but in another it clearly read as a female shoulder – it was captivating.
‘I love this one,’ she said, almost to herself.
‘You do?’ he said, sounding pleased.
She didn’t imagine an artist of his standing would care a fig what a twenty-two-year-old girl like her thought.
‘This is one of my favourites. What do you like about it, Audrey?’
She thought for a moment, contemplating the piece. ‘I like how feminine it feels, even though it looks nothing like a woman. These mounds here.’ She felt herself blush. ‘Even though they aren’t... you know, they still read as something womanly.’
‘Goodness, girl, you can’t even say the word breast to me. You really are repressed.’ Benedict laughed, a genuine, chesty laugh.
‘I’m not repressed,’ Audrey said, her forehead furrowing into a frown, her cheeks glowing red.
‘You’re the most repressed girl I’ve ever met.’ He smiled, amused by her blushes. ‘When’s the last time you had sex?’
‘I don’t think that’s an appropriate question.’
Benedict let out a bellowing laugh. ‘You don’t need to tell me. I can tell from the way you hold yourself, your spikiness, all that pent-up frustration.’ She frowned, but he seemed to find her discomfort amusing. ‘Don’t be so British, we’re all adults here. That’s what you want isn’t it, to be treated as an equal, the same as the grown-ups?’ Benedict moved back towards a sculpture on their left. ‘This piece is called Bloom. It depicts the unfurling of a girl into womanhood. You see these petals of the flower; do you see what they are?’
Audrey saw the flower was not a flower at all, every petal had nipples. She found herself smiling despite herself.
