Chapter Ten

2008

She had actually overestimated how far her home was from the cafe. It took barely five minutes of fairly rapid walking for us to arrive there. It was just as well, for as we walked, too quickly for much conversation, the sky turned heavy, promising a summer shower would soon fall. Her house was down a cul-de-sac of late-Victorian terraces. It was at the very far end, red brick and stern, though neat, with a pot of deep pink petunias in the small front yard. I hung back near the red-painted front gate as she took out her key and unlocked the front door. The click of the key in the lock sounded very loud. Everything met my senses more loudly or with a greater intensity than it should have done, as my legs weakened at the thought of actually being in her home. Alone with her.

'Come in then,' she said, leading the way, 'before it rains. Don't expect it to be very tidy though,' she added flippantly over her shoulder.

The front door opened directly into the living room of the house. I pushed it closed behind me and looked around with interest. I couldn't have imagined what her house would be like, but I wasn't sure this was it.

'It's rented, by the way,' she informed me as she saw my gaze travelling around the room, 'so please don't think magnolia walls and beige carpets are really my thing. I'm not allowed to decorate.'

'I wish someone would paint the walls of my flat,' I returned, glad she cared about the impression her home presented to me. 'Any color would be good. Landlord couldn't care less though.' I paid less attention to the decor, and looked instead at the elements in the room which seemed more to reflect her personality. A large, comfortable sofa, in crimson, with a navy fleece throw over one side; a tall bookcase, stuffed with books and bending magazines, in no apparent order; a stereo with a haphazard scatter of CDs surrounding it. The coffee table was of dark wood, with a plain clear glass vase filled with red tulips, their fleshy pale green stems left long, allowing them to droop gracefully, alluringly. There was a photographic journal resting near it, and a book with a creased spine open, face down. On one of the walls was a framed Impressionist print—my artistic knowledge was not good enough to tell me by which artist. A lingering scent of sandalwood incense pervaded the room.

Above the pine fireplace, the top of which was loaded with candles of varying colors and heights and a statue of a graceful black cat arching its back, was a very large photograph, vivid against its black background and dark oak frame. My gaze was drawn irresistibly to it: a broken string of pearls in the foreground, becoming blurred towards the back of the perspective, much larger than life; one or two crimson rose petals, with drops of water glistening on them, resting on the same white surface as the pearls, casting dark shadows; and behind them all, slightly out of focus, a red apple, with a bite taken out of it, a trickle of juice running from the white wound in its skin. An old-fashioned metal key, brown and rusted with age, rested close to the apple. It was such a simple picture, and yet so sensual, vaguely disturbing.

'Did you take that?' I asked turning to her, the impression it had made on me evident in my voice.

'Yes,' she said, and I saw the pride in her smile.

'It's beautiful,' I breathed. It was a word I rarely used, but nothing else would do it justice.

'I'm glad you like it,' she said softly, her eyes shining.

'What does it mean?' I asked, tearing my gaze from her face and back to the photograph, wondering if it could give me some further insight into her personality.

'What do you think it means?' she asked, coming to stand a little closer to me and regarding the picture with me, her head tilted to one side, as if looking at it for the first time, as I was.

‘I don't know,' I replied, worried that I wouldn't do the intrinsic meaning of her photograph any justice.

'Tell me what it makes you think about,' she prompted.

'Well, the apple makes me think of Eve and the forbidden fruit, you know...' I said tentatively. 'Or Snow White and the poisoned apple. But it's blurred, so maybe the meaning isn't certain.'

I looked nervously at her and found her smiling at me, an expression of pleasure on her face. 'Go on,' she said.

'I don't know...' I paused to consider. 'The rose petals and the pearls make me think of love and romance, and, well, femininity, but the pearls are broken and the petals look like they've got tears on them. They're blood red, which could be frightening or just romantic. And I'm not sure if the key is a bad thing, in that it could lock something away, or a good thing because it represents freedom...'

I turned to her again. She wasn't looking at her photograph at all now, only at me, her expression reflective. 'How did I do?' I asked with a nervous laugh.

'Perfectly,' she said softly before seeming to collect herself. T mean, you picked up on the whole point, things can always have more than one meaning. Something can be good and bad. Eve ate the apple and it gave her knowledge, an understanding of the truth even if she was expelled from Eden for it. Snow White found true love through being poisoned. A key can lock or unlock something.'

'So nothing is certain?'

'Something like that. Or more like things appear differently, depending on the perspective you're looking at them from. I keep this photo in here because I like to ask people what they see in it. Some people think it's entirely positive. Other people feel sort of threatened by it, like it's something sinister. One of my friends thinks it's about nothing but sex,' she laughed easily, 'which is exactly what I would expect of her.'