Art in Reality Ch. 07-10

This is part three of an ongoing story. I think you could make sense of it as a standalone submission, but I recommend you read the previous two parts first, to get a better feel for the narrative.

I hope you enjoy it.

*****

Chapter Seven

~

Peter reached out to his side, running his hand across the bed sheet.

It was cold. He stretched out further, but could not find the warmth he was searching for.

He opened his eyes and realised he had been dreaming.

A knocking sound penetrated his subdued consciousness; followed by a distant, muffled shout, 'hello.'

'Shit,' Peter snapped to fully awake.

He shoved the duvet away and clambered out of bed. He grabbed his dressing gown and threw it around himself as he staggered towards the front door.

~

Peter swung his front door open.

'It is Thursday isn't it?' he was asked.

'It is. Sorry Craig. I overslept,' Peter said, rubbing one eye. 'Come in.'

'That seems not like you,' said Craig as he walked into the cottage.

'I haven't been sleeping well,' said Peter as he waved Craig in towards the living room and gestured at the sofa.

'I had to scrape frost off the car,' Craig said as he slumped down onto the sofa.

'Yeah. Winter is definitely creeping in,' Peter replied as he ran his hands through his hair. 'Sorry, do you mind if I go and sort myself out.'

'I can't hold any kind of a conversation with you in a dressing gown.'

Peter smirked, nodded his thanks and headed for the bathroom.

~

Peter reached in to the shower and turned the water on; then stood back and pulled his gown off.

He caught his eye in the mirror and gave himself a withering look.

He sighed as he stretched his lethargic arms up over his head to remove his T-shirt, then slipped his boxer shorts down and stepped into the shower.

~

The water was a blessing. It was hot and blasted satisfyingly against the back of his neck. He stood, gently rolling his head around. It took only a moment before memories started flashing through his mind.

Her hair; clinging wet to her head, neck and shoulders.

The river of water running through the valley between her breasts. Her teasing smile; formed by full red lips and perfect white teeth. The feel of his hands running down her back; riding over shoulder blades, sliding along the smooth curve of her spine, dipping across dimples and coming to rest on soft flesh that gave a hint of the perfect bottom below.

Peter's penis had swollen into a tight, hard erection. He looked down at it and his mind projected the memory of her hand wrapped around it.

He recalled her nipples, puckered and protruding into hard buttons of arousal. The look in her eyes as she gazed into his own and the sweet sound of her voice as she said, "I want you too."

He closed his eyes and wrapped his hand around his erection, giving it a slight squeeze.

He stood for a moment. He felt a thousand tickling sensations, as water flowed down his back, bum, thighs and calves. It contrasted with the hard stiffness of his cock as he held it in his hand.

He sighed, opened his eyes, and reached for a bottle. He squirted shampoo into his hands and began to wash his hair.

~

When he had finished washing himself, he stepped out of the shower and quickly dried himself off. His erection had faded away by the time he put the dressing gown back on and walked out of the bathroom.

He stuck his head in to the living room, but couldn't see Craig.

'You all right mate?' he called.

'Making coffee,' came back from the kitchen.

He continued into his bedroom to get dressed.

~

'Thanks,' Peter said as he sat on the sofa and picked up a mug of coffee. He sipped it slowly as he stared into the cold fireplace.

'Spit it out,' Craig said.

'Oh, sorry. Still half asleep,' Peter stood up. 'I'll grab my iPad for you.'

He walked over to his desk, picked up the tablet and returned to the sofa.

'I said, spit it out,' Craig said.

'What?' Peter asked as he held out the iPad.

'I don't think I'm here to proofread this,' Craig said.

'I've finished a chapter...'

'Your brain is not in this room.'

Peter paused.

'What's going on?' Craig asked.

Peter examined the cover of the iPad in detail.

'I had a row,' he sighed eventually. 'Well. Not a row exactly. But it feels like a row.'

'Right. With?'

'Someone I met.'

'Right.'

Peter paused again.

'You had a row with? The milkman?' Craig persisted.

'I don't have a milkman.'

'No shit.'

'With a girl I met. Last week.

'Ah.'

'Don't say, ah, like that.'

'What's her name?'

'Katie. Well, Katherine.'

'Katie is a pet name?'

'No. Katie to her friends.'

'So. She's a,' Craig paused. 'Friend?'

'Yes.'

'A friend that you were?'

'Were what?' Peter frowned.

Craig sighed heavily, 'a friend that you were shagging?'

'Craig,' Peter groaned.

'Well. Just trying to establish the facts,' Craig held up his hands. 'Why don't you start at the beginning. What's going on?'

Peter put the tablet down on the table and then sat back; he sank into the sofa and gathered his thoughts.

'I crashed my car. Last week in that storm we had. Well not crashed. A stray sheep ran across the road. I swerved to avoid it and skidded into a ditch. And got stuck. Katie pulled over and stopped to see if I was okay. She offered to drive me home. Which she did. And we hit it off.'

'I see,' Craig interjected as Peter paused. 'Starting to make a bit of sense now. You then met her again?'

'She stayed over that night. We spent the next day together and then she stayed over again.'

'That seems...' Craig said. 'No offence intended, but you don't strike me as someone who usually moves that fast?'

'No, you're right,' Peter replied. 'I don't, but. Sorry, I'm going to sound soppy. She's amazing. Was amazing. Is amazing.'

'So what have you done to fuck it up?' Craig asked lightly.

'I haven't done anything,' Peter asserted firmly.

Craig made no comment.

'The day after, the second night she stayed,' Peter continued, 'she got a call. She had to go back to London. Where she lives. She was here on holiday. Sort of holiday. She was painting. To meet a guy called Lancour. She's an artist by the way. Do you know Lancour?'

'No.'

'Well he's quite a big deal in contemporary art. He has very expensive galleries all over the world. He wanted to meet Katie with a view to exhibiting her work at the Lancour Gallery in London. It's a huge opportunity for her.'

'Nice.'

'Anyway to cut a long story short; I went back to London with her. I was supposed to go with her; to dinner. With Lancour. And she blew me out in favour of her agent; Gavin.'

'And you then had a row about it?'

'No, I left.'

'Left when?'

'Straight out of the restaurant. I left them to have dinner, went back to her place to pick up my bag, left her keys on the table and came back here.'

'Oh you both ended up at the restaurant at the same time? Crashed into each other, as it were.'

'Yeah.'

'You left without saying goodbye?'

'Are you listening? She screwed me over at the restaurant.'

'Relax,' Craig said. 'I'm just trying to make sure I've got the timeline straight. Why couldn't you both stay for dinner?'

'Erm. Hard to explain, but essentially Lancour made it clear that it was one or the other.'

'Right. Helpful.'

They sat silently for a moment before Craig asked, 'so she didn't know you were going until you'd gone?'

'No.'

'Right. Has she called or anything?'

'She's phoned a couple of times.'

'Good, what did she say?'

'Nothing. I didn't answer.'

'And she's left no messages?'

'No.'

'Right.'

Craig sat back in the sofa and took several sips of coffee.

'She told Gavin I was a holiday shag,' Peter said, staring fixedly into the fireplace.

'Gavin?'

'Her asshole agent.'

'Oh yes, sorry. She told you that?'

'No, of course not. He told me.'

'I see. He said, Katie says you're her holiday shag?'

'Not in those words but yes.'

'Right.'

Craig paused to see what Peter would say next. Several minutes went past before Peter said, 'right? That's it?'

'Is that it?' Craig responded.

'You're not going to say anything?'

'Do you want me to say something?'

'Yes. No, what's the point.'

'I will say something.'

'Go on then.'

'You should speak to her.'

'Why the hell should I speak to her, she's the one...'

'Okay okay,' Craig interrupted. 'I'll rephrase. You should listen to her then. She's been calling.'

'I think she's made it perfectly clear already...'

'I don't think so,' Craig interrupted again.

'What?'

'Look. You are more upset by this than you were when you split up with Karen. How long ago was that now?'

'Erm, four years,' Peter said, rolling his eyes up.

'Really? Anyway, whatever. You're practically shaking with; I don't know. Anger. Sadness. I don't know. All sorts of stuff probably.'

'Your point?'

'My point is; you're more upset over this misunderstanding with Katie than I ever saw you over the split with Karen. Which means you care a damn lot more about Katie than you did Karen.'

Peter paused; thinking. 'What misunderstanding?' he asked.

'Well. Probably several,' Craig reasoned. 'You went with her to the restaurant? Travelled with her I mean.'

'Yes.'

'Fine. So she knew you were going. Wanted you to go. Was she surprised to see Gavin?'

'Erm. Yes.'

'There's the first mistake. Hers; or Gavin's, I don't know.'

'The fact of the matter is she chose him.'

'Yes. She chose her agent to accompany her to a business meeting.'

'That's not what it was like.'

'That's not what it felt like.'

'You're twisting this. This is not my fault.'

'I'm not saying it is your fault. I'm saying maybe no one is at fault. At least, not very much. When you consider the circumstances.'

'So how did she describe me to Gavin? A fling?' Peter said, with a tight anger.

'I don't know, but almost certainly not the way he described it to you. He sounds like an asshole.'

'He called me a country bumpkin.'

'Case closed; he's an asshole,' Craig smirked.

'But she...'

'What?' Craig interrupted sharply. 'She what? Hurt your feelings by making a tough call?'

Peter was quiet.

'She was under a lot of pressure,' Craig continued. 'If this meeting with whatever his face was as important as you say it was. Stressed and caught by surprise does not generally make for a tactful person.'

Peters eyes watered. 'Fuck,' he whispered; then stood up and walked to the window. Craig stayed seated.

'I hate it when you're fucking right,' Peter said with his back turned.

'I'll be unbearably smug, but I'll save it until we've sorted this out.'

Peter turned and smiled briefly.

'What am I going to do?' he asked.

'Speak to her.'

'She stopped calling the day before yesterday.'

'Doesn't matter. You can't give up. Phone her.'

'I can't phone her.'

Craig paused for a moment before saying, 'swallow your pride mate.'

'Hmmm.'

'How many times did she ring?'

'A couple. A few.'

'How many?'

'Twenty three.'

'Twenty three!' Craig choked. 'Fucking hell. And here's you passing on knowledge to the next generation. You haven't done a book on social skills have you?'

'Alright alright. Shut up.'

'Twenty three. You dick head,' Craig said affectionately. 'This is not the behaviour of a woman giving you the brush off my friend.'

'You promised to hold off on smugness.'

'Twenty three,' Craig stood up. 'I'm going to go now. You've got a call to make. Email me the chapter I'm supposed to read.'

Peter stepped forward and gave Craig a rough hug.

'This'll be great in my best man speech,' Craig said. 'Yes ladies and gentlemen, twenty three times.'

'Ha ha,' Peter said sarcastically and pushed him back. 'You can piss off now.'

Craig grinned and walked to the door; put on his boots, coat and scarf.

'Thanks mate,' Peter called across the room.

Craig nodded, and left.

~

Peter sat, for a long time, with his mobile phone in his hand. He hovered his thumb over the call button several times. When he finally decided what he was going to say he pressed the button.

The phone rang; twice; and then diverted to the answer phone.

As he listened to Katie's voice brightly apologising for being unable to answer and telling him to leave a message, he said aloud, 'you cut me off.'

He hung up the call before the message recorder started.

'It should have rung more times than that. You cut me off.'

~

After pacing around the cottage for a few minutes, Peter slumped into the chair by his desk and tried to get on with some work.

He struggled in vain to concentrate for forty five minutes before giving up. He felt the twitchiness of unburnt adrenalin, so decided to go for a run.

Having changed into suitable clothing he set out along the clifftop path, going in the opposite direction to the village. The route this way ran unbroken for miles.

He pushed himself hard. Despite the frosty coldness and the biting sea breeze, he was quickly dripping sweat.

Half an hour later, as his muscles were burning, his phone rang.

He stopped and pulled it out of his pocket.

It was Katie.

He stood looking at her name as the phone vibrated in his hand.

Realising it was about to transfer to message, he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear.

'Hello,' he said.

'Hi, it's Katie.'

'Hello.'

'You sound out of breath?'

'Yeah, I was running.'

'Oh, I see,' she paused. 'You phoned me earlier.'

'Yeah, you cut me off,' he said as he turned his back to the wind.

'Sorry, erm, I was in a meeting,' she replied. 'I've just come out.'

'Long meeting,' he said in a tone that he instantly regretted.

'Yes long meeting. I phoned you, more than once. You just come out of a meeting?' she replied tightly.

After a pause, he said 'no. I just. I wasn't ready to speak to you I guess.'

'Right.'

There was a long pause as neither said anything. The cold wind was cooling Peter off rapidly. His sweat clung unpleasantly and he could feel his muscles tightening uncomfortably. He felt the tell tale warnings of a cramp building in one of his calves.

'What did you want to say?' Peter asked abruptly.

'What did I,' Katie uttered. 'We shared the most,' she stopped as the words caught in her throat. 'I have never been so intimate with anyone and you left me,' she forced out in a rush.

'You made your choice at the restaurant.'

'It was a misunderstanding.'

'Gavin seemed pretty clear.'

'Gavin didn't...'

'And he seemed to have had a pretty clear appraisal of your thoughts about me,' Peter cut in.

'No. Gavin can be an asshole.'

'Is an asshole.'

'Okay, Gavin is an asshole.'

'He's your agent.'

'Yes. And an asshole. I did not tell him that you...'

'Why is he your agent?'

'Because he's a good agent.'

'He's an asshole agent.'

'Yes. A lot of agents are assholes. Shocker. Art can be a ruthless game.'

'Are you playing a game?'

They were both stunned into silence. Peter pressed his hand up to his forehead. Katie sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek.

'I'm...' Peter began.

'I trusted you,' Katie snapped.

'I invited you into my home on nothing but the pure gut instinct of trust I felt for you.' Peter countered, pushed onto the back foot by the anger in her voice.

'Yeah, of course,' she said.

'What?'

'Well perhaps your motives are achieved.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' he asked.

'Well you've made your conquest haven't you? No need to stick around now.'

She stabbed her thumb onto her phone and ended the call.

Both of them stared for a moment at their phones.

Both of them sank down onto their knees.

Both of them burst into tears.

~

Chapter Eight

~

Katie spent the whole of the following day trying to work on a painting. It was a commissioned piece that was destined for the lobby of a hotel. It was not a particularly artistic or career progressing job, but it was a good earner, which was needed to pay the bills.

She spent the whole day alternating between periods of gazing melancholically at the canvas and short periods of stabbing angrily at it with various brushes.

Come late afternoon, she slumped back and looked dejectedly at the discordant mess of paint. Her blankness of mind was broken by the door bell ringing. She frowned, wondering who it could be as she walked over and opened the door.

'Miss Connell?' asked the visitor. He was a man who looked to be in his sixties. He had a friendly smile and was holding a bunch of red roses.

'Yes,' Katie replied.

'Delivery for you miss,' he said and offered the flowers up to her.

'Oh,' she took the bouquet. 'Thank you.'

After looking at the beautiful roses for a moment, she asked, 'isn't it a bit odd to send seven roses?'

'It is a bit unusual yes,' the man said and smiled again.

'Who are they from?' Katie asked.

'There's a card,' the man said and pointed it out.

'Oh yes,' Katie said and looked at the card. 'It's just got a circle on it.'

'An oh actually,' the delivery man said. 'Well, sorry, a zero to be specific. I believe the numbers are significant miss. I'll go and get the rest.' He turned to walk away.

'The rest?' Katie called after him.

'Yes miss,' he paused. 'There's more in the van for you. I'll only be a sec.'

A minute later he returned with two bunches of flowers; eight tulips and three hellebores.

'I was told to give them to you in a particular order,' he said. 'It's these first,' he held out the tulips, which Katie took. 'And then these,' he said, offering the hellebores.

'Erm, thank you,' Katie said, baffled.

'Stay put, there's more to come,' the man said as he pottered off back to his van.

He repeated the journey several more times. Katie was bewildered a she received flowers of all varieties, in differing numbers.

When the man handed over the eleventh bouquet he said, 'that's all of them miss.'

'Erm, do I give you a tip?' she asked.

'No no miss,' the man smiled warmly. 'Not necessary.'

'I've never received flowers like this before,' Katie said and smiled sheepishly. 'I don't know what to make of all this.'

'Maybe you could call someone to find out miss.'

He had put a particular stress on the word 'call'.

'Goodbye miss,' he said and turned to leave.

'Goodbye. Thank you,' Katie called as he left.

After closing the door, she turned and looked at the number and array of flowers covering her kitchen table.

'Numbers,' she said to herself.

An idea suddenly hit her and she went to pick up her phone. She looked at the call history. Peter's name was at the top of the list; she had not spoken to anyone else since their call the day before. She tapped the info icon to display his phone number and counted the digits.

Eleven digits. Eleven bunches of flowers.

She quickly went through the digits to discover the number of flowers matched Peter's phone number perfectly. She knew the flowers were from him. A tumult of emotions ran through her.

Without thinking she tapped the call button on her phone and held it up to her ear.

After a couple of rings, Peter answered, 'hello.'

'Hello,' Katie said.

'Hi.'

'Are you responsible for giving me this dreadful hay fever?' she asked.

'Oh god,' he said with genuine panic in his voice. 'Are you allergic to flower pollen?'

'No,' she paused. 'Just winding you up.'

'You. I. If,' Peter stammered. 'You just took five years off my life.'

'Sorry,' Katie replied. 'The flowers are lovely.'

Suddenly she heard someone call in the background.

'Have you got someone with you?' she asked.

'Ah yes,' Peter said. 'It's Daniel and Susan. They're round for dinner.'

'Oh sorry. This is a bad time.'

'No it's alright,' he replied, and then called away from the phone, 'hang on a sec Dan, I'm just on the phone.'