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They looked at one another for a few seconds before Elda rose, folded her arms around Charlie’s waist, and pulled her head to rest on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Elda whispered. “I wish I could take away all that pain.”
Charlie relaxed. For the first time, she wasn’t touching Elda with the fever of desire. Instead, she was sharing a part of herself which was usually zipped up tight. Charlie closed her eyes and allowed herself to be held.
***
A week later, she sat across the table, resting her chin on her hand. A candle flickered, throwing shade onto Elda’s face as she picked up her wine glass by its thin stem. She tipped it towards her full lips, and Charlie licked her own.
Their food came and they chatted nonstop.
“Jack called me earlier, when I was leaving work.” Elda placed her knife down. “My mum’s been phoning the house. I need to give her a ring. Will you remind me?”
“Of course. Maybe we should go and visit soon?” Charlie was putting herself out there. She’d never actually met anyone’s parents. “Your mum might be on her best behaviour if I’m there too.”
“Maybe. She comes with a big health warning. She’ll be drunk before we arrive, and she’ll bring up all my failed relationships. I don’t want you to have to deal with that.”
A hint of shame crossed Elda’s face. Charlie swallowed hard on her food and took a drink of water. She’d been with at least a hundred women, but she had never felt protective of any of them. “I don’t mind. Whatever works. Let’s have a look at dates when we get home.” Home felt like the right description. She’d never shared her house with anyone, but Elda had been spending four nights out of five in Charlie’s bed.
They ordered cocktails instead of desserts, and Charlie got up to sit next to Elda. “I have something for you.” She closed her fists and held them out, just like the childhood game. “You choose.”
Elda giggled and shifted her weight on the leather bench. “What’s this?” She touched Charlie’s right hand and turned it over.
Charlie unfolded her palm to reveal a silver key. She did the same with her left hand to reveal a bigger, brass key.
Elda frowned as she tried to work out what she was being given. Charlie put them both on the table and pushed the silver key closer to Elda. “This one is for my house, so you can come and go whenever you want.” She tried to keep her tone casual as it dawned on her that this was a pretty big deal. She wavered for a second, wondering if she was doing the right thing. Was it too much? Would Elda bolt?
Elda looked up, and Charlie saw a wave of joy ripple across her face. She was so beautiful, Charlie could barely look at her. “And this one is for a studio in block B of the mill. It’s smaller than your last one. And the lease is just for six months to see if you like it.”
Elda swallowed, and tears fell down her cheeks. Her mouth opened but nothing came out.
“You don’t need to say anything.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to push you. You can use the space or not. It’s a gift.” Charlie stroked Elda’s hair and kissed her. She couldn’t help but raise her eyebrow. Here she was, the ultimate control freak, dishing out keys to her front door and a six-month lease. Pretty sizeable gesture for a commitment-phobe.
It had all come from nowhere, and this was uncharted territory.
“What made you think of a new studio?” Elda asked.
“I just wanted to show you how much I care about you.” In all honesty, she’d been battling the guilt over the photo of Theresa and kicking herself for her clumsy explanation. She hoped this would go some way to make up for it. “I wanted you to see I’m living for now and that I’m not stuck in the past.”
If Charlie admitted it to herself, she might even be starting to think about their future.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The next morning, Elda took an early walk to the mill. She hadn’t been since she’d given notice on her studio and left for Paris. The café across the canal was overflowing, with people spilling outside to perch on the stone steps. She recalled the view from the corner table and fiddled with the key in her pocket. Her stomach jumped with excitement. She hadn’t banked on having the spare cash to pay a deposit on a new place to paint for a long time. Charlie’s gift meant the world to her.
The room was miniature compared to her old studio, but it was hers. She stepped into the vacant space and peered into the high corners of the ceilings. The walls were smudged with the efforts of its previous tenants. The concrete floor was dusty, and rubbish had collected at the edges. She inhaled chemicals and stale air.
Elda dragged two plastic chairs across the room and sat for a moment with her eyes closed. In the black canvas behind her eyelids, she imagined clean, whitewashed walls and wooden benches. Her rug was back in the centre of the room, and Charlie was draped on a sheepskin cushion. She opened her eyes and grinned.
For the first time in ages, she reached into her rucksack and pulled out a new sketch pad. Her tin of pencils rattled in a side pocket. She turned a fresh page and began to create grey lines, reimagining the space in front of her.
At first, she was deliberate, but her thoughts drifted into a fog, and when she emerged an hour later, she’d sketched Charlie. Her drawing had stitched itself together from a patchwork of memories. Charlie was laid back, her forearms behind her head. Her short hair was messy, like she’d spent the morning in bed. She was full of confidence and vulnerability, her delicate lips parted, and her eyes burning off the page. Her breasts were visible, but her hips were left to the imagination. Elda had captured Charlie’s raw beauty and recalled every crease in her skin.
A sharp pain stabbed her back. She hadn’t moved for some time. She unfolded herself and stood, rubbing her numb hands together. Her cheeks ached from smiling, and she basked in the happiness that Charlie had gifted her.
