Page 25 of Tears of Glass

I dunk my head under the bubbles and try to hide from reality for a moment. Having Tabitha here is a little like stowing a runaway. As much as I hate Jennifer Fairclough and think she’s a bitch of the highest order, I’d hate for her to worry about her only daughter.

I can’t dwell on it too much because then I start wondering if she would worry.

I treat myself to my expensive body wash and then when I’m out, I rub myself in a matching body oil. The room fills with the scent of roses and my ink glistens with a soft sheen. With a look in the mirror I study myself. A multi-coloured, many patterned surface, the cream and pink roses across my collarbone stand out the most because they are lighter than the other tatts I have. It’s a real shame I hate them now because they are kind of prominent. I lean forward and inspect the shard of glass Dan placed above my heart. He did a good job; it’s delicate and light, with beautiful shading. Al would have been pleased and I know it would have been snapped and ended up on his wall of fame. Funny that Dan and I didn’t even think about taking a picture of it that day. I guess we had other things on our minds.

I twist my hair up into a knot, not bothering to dry it. My hair is always up. I keep it long, but being an artist, and when I’m working on someone’s skin, it always has to be up.

Elijah loved my hair.

Fuck. Why do I keep thinking of him?

Shut it off, Faith.

With my towel wrapped around me, I walk back out into the lounge. Tabitha is asleep on the sofa. I hesitate, unwilling to wake her. Abi explained to us before we left Brighton that it is normal to be tired all the time. I tuck the blanket from the arm of the sofa over her and then pad around getting dressed.

I can’t decide what to wear. It’s not like Angela, the Channel 4 producer, hasn’t seen my ink before. In the end, I choose a black playsuit with spaghetti straps and a pair of black heels that make my already tall frame towering. Tabitha is still sleeping when I slip my phone and keys into a black clutch. I hope I’m not overdressed. But it’s an evening meeting in a wine bar, it’s not the sort of thing you’d go to in jeans and a jumper.

I scrawl Tabitha a quick note telling her there’s stuff for sandwiches in the fridge or some ginger biscuits in the cupboard if that’s all she can manage.

Outside the evening is balmy and I breathe in the warm London air, allowing the mix of tastes to tingle on the top of my tongue. I wave down the first black cab with its light on and tell him to aim for Kensington. Giving him the address of Marguex’s where the meeting is, I settle back and try to calm my nerves.

Come on... I was the girl who walked into The Ritz to meet a baroness. I can do this. Angela seemed nice for the three minutes I met her before I smashed a giant glass heart in front of her.

Oh, God. I lean my head on the window and breathe to calm the jangled clanging in my head.

Angela is waiting at the bar and she has on a shift dress and heels. Phew, I’m not overdressed. She air-kisses me and then pushes me back so she can inspect my face. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I nod, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Thank you. It’s been a tough couple of weeks. My uncle died, so I’ve been in Brighton helping arrange his funeral.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Faith.” She gives me a genuine warm smile and gestures me to the bar. “I remember when my father died. I had no idea how much was involved in the planning. It’s not easy.”

From the corner of my eye I assess her. She doesn’t seem old enough to have lost a father.

I give a wry chuckle under my breath. Dan’s just lost his dad, and he’s in his twenties. Sometimes I think utter crap.

“I’m sorry.”

We seem to be having a largely apologetic conversation. It needs to move on. “Anyway, thank you for agreeing to see me, and still being interested in working with me.” I send her what I hope looks like a genuine smile.

“Of course. I still love my idea, and I’m convinced you are the right person for the job.” Her eyes appraise me. “I mean, you are very camera friendly, and from what I can see you have an amazing skill at getting people to enjoy art.”

I shrug. “Well, I didn’t set out for that. I should tell you straight up, I think I got lucky with the group of kids I worked with.”

Her lips purse and her eyes narrow slightly. “I’d be inclined to disagree, but let’s not worry about that now. So, I thought we could talk a bit about my ideas, you can give me some feelers for the project, and then I can tell you how something like this would pan out. I’m sure you can imagine it’s not a case of deciding it’s a go and then it happens the following week.”

I nod. Though I have no idea how these things pan out. “Shall we get a drink?” I suggest as the barman looks at us expectantly, his eyes darting over my skin.

“Yes, wine?”

“Sounds great.”

She orders something I haven’t heard of and we watch as glasses are slid across the bar. The bartender in a white shirt and dark waistcoat fills them, although I can sense his focus is on me rather than the drink he’s pouring. I straighten my back and stare at him in return until he flusters and mumbles something about letting us know if we need anything else.

“Yes, Faith, you see it’s all about backing, money, and scheduling. Especially for a show like this, made by the corporation itself. It’s different for formats that are pre-recorded and then sold to us. Things take longer in-house.” She smiles and I can see how enthusiastic she is. It fills me with a little bubble of the big E and my mind starts to whirl with what could be. I mean who would watch a programme like that? Who would take part? What would they want to win? I’m so distracted in my own ideas I almost don’t tune in to what she’s saying. “It’s lucky we have a backer. That’s one less argument with the board I have to navigate.” Her eyes shift over my shoulder. “Ah, here, now the meeting can start properly.”

I don’t turn. I just know. My stomach plummets, my soul crumpling into a small ball.

“Faith.” Elijah’s voice makes my insides liquefy into molten lava.