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“I missed you so much.”
“Show me.”
She drew away to look at him. He was dead on his feet. He’d picked up a tummy bug and spent half the time in India throwing up. He’d lost weight and it showed in the pallor of skin along with the dark slashes under his eyes.
“You need to rest.”
“I need a shower and to get to the office.”
“Oh no you don’t. Whatever it is can wait.”
He shook his head. He smelled of stale sweat and airline food. He hadn’t shaved for days and he needed a haircut. He looked marvellous to her because she could touch him, smell him, look directly into his tired eyes.
He didn’t want food and he wouldn’t sleep. They showered together and whatever weariness he carried was buried in his need for her. She’d have lain with him all afternoon but he had to go.
He was late home that night and he didn’t wake her and that became their new pattern. She painted, happily, haphazardly, whenever she felt like it. He worked every hour the clock showed, seven days. He came home exhausted, but he was satisfied. More companies busted out of Jay’s incubator and Ipseity was still standing. Every month they made it through was another month closer to second round funding, another month closer to making it.
But he might as well have remained in India. She missed him in the same way, as if he wasn’t really here, because he wasn’t. He was slave to the needs of Ipseity and she couldn’t compete, and she didn’t want to. She made space for him to do what he needed to do the easiest way possible.
His chance of success was so slim, but so close, so real at the same time, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to support him. She ran their household now, oddly proud she remembered to shop, pay bills and could feed them decently. And slowly she collected work she thought good enough for a showing. It was such a different life to the one she’d expected to be leading. And apart from Mace’s absence, it was a surprise and a joy.
She’d even gone so far as to confess her past as a high flying corporate princess to her classmates, admitting that Cinta was the name Mace had given her, not the one she’d established her CV with. They heaped shit on her in a reverse of the usual corporate sell-out argument that got levelled at an artist who went to work in advertising or animating video games.
“So you had your own jet?”
Alfie was sprawled on the rug, a glass of wine in his hand. He’d already asked if she had her own gold-plated bathroom, private elevator and harem of salaried minions.
She topped up Ingrid’s glass. “No. I did not have my own jet.” Malcolm did, Tom had kept it, but there was no need to rub it in.
“I bet you had lovely clothes,” said Ingrid.
She was barefoot, wearing loose cotton pants and a t-shirt she probably should’ve been dry cleaning. It was slightly too short now. She laughed. “I still have them.” She didn’t say she’d be wearing them again one day. Time enough to tell them she was only slumming it.
Carmen held her glass up. “Do you miss it?”
Jacinta refilled it. Yes, no, maybe. Of course she did. This was fun, like being on the sabbatical she’d never had, long service leave from all her stress, but it wasn’t permanent. Mace was permanent; this was simply an adventure holiday. “The good days.”
“But you’ve painted before now?” said Agnes. She was the youngest to Ingrid’s elder statesman and the good girl to Carmen’s tattooed, dreadlocked extravagance.
“My mum taught me. I took art at school and dabbled from time to time, but it’s been a while and I’ve got a lot to learn.”
“Is humble a line in your bio, like a core skill?” said Alfie.
Carmen laughed. Ingrid said, “That’s not nice.”
“Yes. It comes after taking the trash out,” she said, aiming a pretend kick at Alfie’s ribs.
They were all laughing when Mace came in. It was the middle of the afternoon and a weekday. She was hard pressed to remember when she’d last seen him in daylight. He left before the sun came up and was rarely home to eat with her anymore.
She went to him as he was dumping bags. He’d been to the supermarket and had flowers as well. She was instantly worried he was unwell or something bad had happened at work.
“Are you all right?”
He handed her the flowers, a huge colourful bunch, but he was frowning. He went into the lounge room, ignored the hello, how are you’s, and pulled the plug on the entertainment unit stopping their music. “Everyone out.”
She dumped the flowers on the kitchen table. “Mace. That’s incredibly rude.” She half laughed, half chastised, trying to make this less embarrassing. “We’ve got a class at four. We’ll all be out of here in an hour. We were talking about—”
Mace looked at Ingrid, maybe hoping for an ally. ”I’m sure it was riveting.” Ingrid laughed at him. Alfie and Carmen were on their feet. Agnes had never met Mace. She stared at him.
