‘Hi. It’s Oliver. Hope you’d a good time with Jodi. Give me a call. Perhaps you fancy dinner one evening? Anyway catch you later.’ There was a long pause before he hung up. I heard his faint but steady breathing. My eyes darted towards the alarm sensor which flashed in the corner. It no longer seemed so protective.

The last message was from James.

‘Hi. It’s me. Hope you got back safely. See you Friday. Same time, same place. Love you.’ This was the first time James had said he loved me.

The declaration made me realise I needed to distance myself from what was happening. I decided the next weekend would be a good time to go home and see my parents. It would placate Mum and get me out of London for a few days. I’d leave on Friday after work and start back-pedalling, away from my married lover and from Oliver.

30

Rebecca

By the time the auction arrived, I had made the decision to leave both the gallery and England. Jodi’s sister Kim had invited me to Australia and the time seemed right to make the move.

My Mother and Child sculpture had been valued at sixty thousand pounds. This would be more than enough to pay for tickets and give me choices if and when I did eventually come back.

Oliver and I met in a small bar opposite Sotheby’s on the morning of the auction.

‘What will you spend your money on?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll get on the property ladder. You?’

‘I fancy a holiday. Perhaps Thailand, South America. What say we go together? Take some time off. We could get cover.’

Delusions pertaining to our relationship still spurred him on. I didn’t tell him my real plans. He’d learn after I’d gone. Instead I played along.

‘Come on. Let’s go and get rich.’

Oliver led me across the road and into the packed sale room. He chatted excitedly, like a small boy about to be let loose in a toy shop. While the lure of money fed his joviality before the sale, his mood dipped sharply when the gavel went down.

Our seats were close together and Oliver loomed large beside me. He skimmed my leg with his thigh and used the lack of space to lean in close and force contact. I could smell his rancid breath.

His lot came up first.

‘Herbert Flambert,’ announced the auctioneer. ‘Where shall we start the bidding? Ten thousand?’

Oliver was sweating and I noticed sodden patches under his armpits as he hung his jacket over the back of his chair. He kept his head down as the price teased up to nineteen thousand pounds.

‘New bidder. We have twenty thousand pounds. Any advance? Going once, going twice, sold.’

Oliver glanced up, gave a wan smile and closed his catalogue. I looked back at the auctioneer. It was my turn.