reasoned, to run away from one’s issues, however cloudy they were. Indeed, perhaps the cloudier they were, the more likely they were to follow you. Sitting around without any real aims or ambitions only risked pushing me towards the kind of distractions I wanted to break away from.
I needed to do a course, I decided. I wasn’t sure exactly what, but I needed to find something to take me out of both myself and my comfort zone. Though I was a risk taker in many respects, I’d been very reliant, it struck me, on my immediate environment and the people in it. Though Pigalle was risqué and perhaps even off limits to certain people, to me it represented security – the security of being surrounded by like-minded people, of not being judged or rejected. But perhaps that in itself demonstrated – ironically – a conservative craving for the known and the reassuring.
I thought about songwriting. My guitar-playing was rusty – I hadn’t picked up an instrument in years. I’d had talent, but I’d been lazy, and I’d let life get in the way. I’d once written poetry too. I’d never done anything with any of it, but now it struck me that I could combine the two and perhaps create something meaningful.
Picking up the phone, I made an appointment to look around the London Songwriting School, and then I called Kyle and left a message asking if he knew anyone who could lend me a guitar for a while. I was going to need to buy one, if I did carry on with this. In fact, I was going to need to get some work to fund all of this. But job and course combined would hopefully keep me out of mischief.
Inspired, I sat in front of my laptop, clicked on Spotify and played the Florence and the Machine song ‘What the Water Gave Me’. I loved Florence Welch – her eccentricity and whole aesthetic, her complex multi-layered sound. This song, I knew, was named after the Symbolism-rich Frida Kahlo painting but was actually about Virginia Woolf’s suicide. It was Gothic at heart and yet dancey. I stood up, started to wig out, letting myself go to the crash of cymbals, the fine interplay of the guitar and the harp, to Florence’s ecstatic lyrics. If I could create something like this, I thought, I might be happy.
The phone rang and I leapt towards it, thinking it was Kyle.
‘Hi!’ I shouted into the receiver. ‘I’ll just turn the music down.’
I closed my laptop and grabbed the phone again. ‘Sorry about that,’ I said.
‘No problem,’ came a voice I didn’t recognise, a female voice.
‘Rachel?’ I said. I didn’t know anyone else who might call me here.
‘Forgotten me already?’ continued the voice, all honeyed on the surface but with something darker, I felt, beneath it. I frowned.
‘Tatiana,’ went the voice. ‘From last night?’
‘Oh
hi
,’ I said, wondering if my voice came across to her as guarded as it did to my own ears.
What the fuck do
you
want?
is what really wanted to come out of my mouth.
‘
Hi
,’ she said, and this time there really was something quite sinister to her tone, which appeared to be mocking mine. ‘Listen, I was serious about helping you out while you’re here. Want to meet up for lunch? A friend’s just cancelled on me, so I’m at a loose end. It’s on me, of course.’
‘Thanks, but I should have explained that I’m not really planning to do any dancing while I’m here,’ I said. ‘I’m … I’m having a break.’
‘Oh? Then why not come out anyway, be one of the ladies who lunch?’
‘I’m afraid I’m a bit busy today. I’m actually … well, I’m researching a course I may apply for, and also I need to get a job to pay for it.’
‘What kind of a job? Maybe I can help. I’m
very
well connected.’
‘I haven’t really thought about it. I guess just waitressing, or maybe I’ll find something in a vintage clothes shop.’
Tatiana tsked. ‘Slave labour,’ she said. ‘You’ll get a pittance. I’m sure you can do better than that.’ She paused for
I needed to do a course, I decided. I wasn’t sure exactly what, but I needed to find something to take me out of both myself and my comfort zone. Though I was a risk taker in many respects, I’d been very reliant, it struck me, on my immediate environment and the people in it. Though Pigalle was risqué and perhaps even off limits to certain people, to me it represented security – the security of being surrounded by like-minded people, of not being judged or rejected. But perhaps that in itself demonstrated – ironically – a conservative craving for the known and the reassuring.
I thought about songwriting. My guitar-playing was rusty – I hadn’t picked up an instrument in years. I’d had talent, but I’d been lazy, and I’d let life get in the way. I’d once written poetry too. I’d never done anything with any of it, but now it struck me that I could combine the two and perhaps create something meaningful.
Picking up the phone, I made an appointment to look around the London Songwriting School, and then I called Kyle and left a message asking if he knew anyone who could lend me a guitar for a while. I was going to need to buy one, if I did carry on with this. In fact, I was going to need to get some work to fund all of this. But job and course combined would hopefully keep me out of mischief.
Inspired, I sat in front of my laptop, clicked on Spotify and played the Florence and the Machine song ‘What the Water Gave Me’. I loved Florence Welch – her eccentricity and whole aesthetic, her complex multi-layered sound. This song, I knew, was named after the Symbolism-rich Frida Kahlo painting but was actually about Virginia Woolf’s suicide. It was Gothic at heart and yet dancey. I stood up, started to wig out, letting myself go to the crash of cymbals, the fine interplay of the guitar and the harp, to Florence’s ecstatic lyrics. If I could create something like this, I thought, I might be happy.
The phone rang and I leapt towards it, thinking it was Kyle.
‘Hi!’ I shouted into the receiver. ‘I’ll just turn the music down.’
I closed my laptop and grabbed the phone again. ‘Sorry about that,’ I said.
‘No problem,’ came a voice I didn’t recognise, a female voice.
‘Rachel?’ I said. I didn’t know anyone else who might call me here.
‘Forgotten me already?’ continued the voice, all honeyed on the surface but with something darker, I felt, beneath it. I frowned.
‘Tatiana,’ went the voice. ‘From last night?’
‘Oh
hi
,’ I said, wondering if my voice came across to her as guarded as it did to my own ears.
What the fuck do
you
want?
is what really wanted to come out of my mouth.
‘
Hi
,’ she said, and this time there really was something quite sinister to her tone, which appeared to be mocking mine. ‘Listen, I was serious about helping you out while you’re here. Want to meet up for lunch? A friend’s just cancelled on me, so I’m at a loose end. It’s on me, of course.’
‘Thanks, but I should have explained that I’m not really planning to do any dancing while I’m here,’ I said. ‘I’m … I’m having a break.’
‘Oh? Then why not come out anyway, be one of the ladies who lunch?’
‘I’m afraid I’m a bit busy today. I’m actually … well, I’m researching a course I may apply for, and also I need to get a job to pay for it.’
‘What kind of a job? Maybe I can help. I’m
very
well connected.’
‘I haven’t really thought about it. I guess just waitressing, or maybe I’ll find something in a vintage clothes shop.’
Tatiana tsked. ‘Slave labour,’ she said. ‘You’ll get a pittance. I’m sure you can do better than that.’ She paused for
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