Martha-The Rewrite Chapter Nineteen
Thursday was much the same in the gallery. I got there ok and Martin was there and Martin went off to do whatever he does on a Thursday afternoon. He does seem very distracted, like he's always somewhere else. I sat around, looked at some of the art. I looked up some more artists on my phone. The woman who ignored me before, did so again. I think we’ll be friends one day. I drank some wine as no one seemed to mind that I did so yesterday. I didn’t even bother hiding in the kitchen cubby hole this time. I figured that it’s really quite arty and acceptable to drink wine in a gallery, so fuck it. My mind pushed me back and forth a bit but no more than usual. Sash wants to come and see me at the gallery but I have told her that next week would be better. I want to settle into this. I don’t want her to see me floundering. She sees enough of that at home. I also need to find something to actually do for 15 hours a week if this is how it is going to be. Maybe I could try and read a book again. Maybe I could draw again. Maybe the novelty of sitting around drinking wine will never really wear off. Yeah, that seems the most likely outcome.
Martin is going to pay me on Friday but I still have about £27 of the money my mum sent me. I want more than pizza but much less than me having to cook. There’s still vegetable curry but it’s very frozen and I think microwaves might be evil so I have never owned one. I went to Spain with Gemma last year and a vision of a gigantic paella invades my head, steaming away in a town square surrounded by large men with outsized paddles that moved the food around as it cooked. Fuck it, why not? It’s just rice and fish and some other stuff, I forget. I’m going to have to enter the realm of Tesco Express as fuck the price of seafood in Waitrose and Aldi is miles away from this end of town. Tesco Express is good for certain things, I just can’t ever remember what they are. They do decent offers on wine most times I go in there and the staff always look cleaner than in some supermarkets. I already have risotto rice, that fat rice that looks like it’s already consumed a shit load of water and needs burping. I just need the seafood selection pack and the rest I can freestyle with using cupboard stuff. I mean, this is cooking after all the not wanting to cook. But paella feels celebratory and just enough hassle for me to handle tonight.
I made paella with no dramas. I doubt anyone Spanish would even consider it an actual paella but hey, it tasted fucking good. The great thing about a seafood selection pack is that it instantly makes any meal 54% more glamorous. Sash said it was ‘like really special fried rice’ and I realised that maybe we had been eating too much Chinese food recently. It was just us tonight. I think I need to invite Jimmy less. Only because he will always say yes and I refuse to believe that he always wants to be here. I’m sure he has better things to do. Maybe he’ll find a new secret girlfriend. maybe he already has and hasn’t told me. It’s just lovely when he is here, like someone has thrown a blanket over me. I never listened to his silence. I only listened to my need. I want to be bigger. Even though he doesn’t say much, it doesn’t mean that he has nothing to say. Fuck knows what is going on inside him but maybe one day it will seep out and there will be a Jimmy puddle on the floor. I’ll mop him up.
“Mum, how do you feel when you are in the gallery?” says Sash, as earnest as fuck. I take a gulp of wine and ponder her really fucking weird for any age but even weirder for an eleven year old enquiry.
“I feel ok darling”. I do. But this is Sash, This will not do.
“Do you feel better than when you are at home?” I drink some wine. I mean shit, now is the time to drink the wine.
“I don’t know if I feel better Sash, it’s different isn’t it, being at work?” She swirls her glass of water around and stares into it like it’s a crystal ball.
“Is it?’ She eventually proposes. I could not love any entity greater than I love that child of mine, even when she is clearly fucking with my mind. So fucking what though? Everyone loves their kids right? Most people’s kids haven’t continually saved their parents' lives and even been good enough to give the best therapy available for only the cost of a bit of dinner at night.
“Perhaps it isn’t, maybe they are the same Sash. But you don’t need to worry darling I’m fine, it’s fine, we’re fine.” She looks down at the table and takes a deep breath, like it might be the deepest breath fucking ever.
“I’m not worried mum, I’m just interested.”