chapter 18, part 2

They earned only a few glances as they entered, Tessa a bit more out of breath for the effort of climbing the stairs, Ben a bit out of breath for the view, having climbed them behind her. There was perhaps some puzzlement from the other attendants, and a few furrowed brows at Tessa's generous bulk wrapped up so lovingly in her daring black dress, but few dared look for long. Even better, no one approached them, and Tessa was free to pick a healthy portion off the nibbles tray before the waitress made it fully out onto the floor.

Ben sipped his prosecco. Tessa looked up at a giant painting of a lactating Madonna with child, a posh sausage roll poised halfway to her mouth.

'Christ,' she said.

'I think that's the idea,' Ben said.

She laughed again. God, how Ben loved that sound.

'I always forget that the old masters were such perverts,' Tessa said.

Ben raised an eyebrow. This conversation was doing something to him. Not the topic, of course - just...Tessa. Her voice. Her smile. Her laugh. Her being here with him. It was making him flush, making his head fill up with a strange sound almost like the happy, lazy summertime buzz of flies. It was_joy_, he thought. Pure, unadulterated joy at her presence. This is what he had missed those months they'd stopped talking. This is what he wasn't sure he could live without. Who could blame him?

And here she was, wanting to be with him too.

'Were they,' he said with his own laugh, feeling - oddly - like he might start to cry.

'I realised when I came here with Guy. There are _so_ many of Mary squirting milk at someone's face - at Jesus, at some poor by-passer, at the viewer....'

'I just thought that was a Christian thing,' Ben said.

'Not in any church I've ever been to. I think it might be a 400-years-before-internet thing.' A second sausage roll disappeared between her red lips. She cast a glance through the gallery door. 'How far do you reckon they'll let us wander?'

'They're pretty lax, last I remember,' Ben said, trying not to think of the one time he'd caught Everton pissing up a wall in the Bologna room.

'Excellent. Let's go look for fat women,' Tessa said.

She lifted a plate from another passing tray then took off through the nearest gallery door. Ben followed, intrigued, confused, and perhaps a little turned on.

She walked with the china plate in one hand, a champagne flute in the other, and quite quickly, like she knew where she was going. It was only another corner before they could no longer hear the music, voices, and clatter of dishes from the party, only the click of her heels and his shoes on the marble floor, and the soft swish of her dress and rub of her thighs beneath it.

'I think I remember them being this way,' Tessa wondered to herself. 'What do you think?'

'Where you lead,' Ben said, 'I'll follow.' His throat felt rather dry. He took another sip of his prosecco.

She took a hold of his sleeve again, and held on a bit longer this time. 'Let's go, then.'

Finally, they arrived in the Rubens room, and Tessa stood in the centre, a relatively small, stark black-and-white form against the grand pink walls. She looked up, throat angled, and took a few steps toward a painting.

'Have you seen this one before?' Tessa asked.

Ben was still standing in the doorway, watching her, unsure what to think or say or feel or act.

'I've never seen any of them,' she said. Her head was tilted sideways as she looked, earrings swinging. 'I always thought they'd be bigger in person.'

Ben went to stand beside her, still a healthy distance away.

It was The Judgement of Paris, according to the plaque at its side. Two men - one of them Paris, presumably - anchored themselves to a tree, while in the foreground stood three female nudes in various lengths of cloth and in various provocative poses. All three women were solid-looking, maybe a bit plumpish. Two faced the men, but one had eyes set on the viewer...in challenge or in invitation, Ben couldn't tell.

'The painting?' Ben said. It was already a large one, nearly two metres across. His arm was tired just looking at it.

'The women,' Tessa clarified. 'Rubens has always been so famous for his fat women, but they're not really fat, are they? Just normal. Healthy. Unless I have body dysmorphia.' She gave a short, sharp laugh. 'Which might be possible.'

'No, I think so,' Ben says. 'They just look average to me.'

'Nice arses, though.'

Ben grinned. 'Not bad.'

'There are so few _truly_ fat women in classic art.'

'Not many black men, either,' Ben said.

'No,' Tessa agreed, frowning.

Ben's face was flushing hot, and he said it before he could rethink: 'Maybe I could paint you someday.'

Tessa gave a jolt of surprise. 'You paint?'

'I took art at A level,' Ben admitted sheepishly.

'I had no idea!'

'Not many people do.'

'I'd love to see,' Tessa said. She added wistfully, 'Someday.'

They stood in silence for a moment, staring at the Rubenesque backsides. _This is it_, Ben thought. _This is the moment. Do something. Say something. This is your chance._

'Let's go back,' Tessa said when he let the moment stretch long enough to break. 'I've suddenly come over all hungry again.'

He hesitated. But, 'Okay,' he said.

He held out an arm for her. She took it. They walked back to the party in silence, the heat of Tessa's hand burning in the crook of his elbow.

'Be right back,' Tessa said. 'Going to go sweet talk the caterers into giving me fourths.'

As soon as she was gone, a much thinner form appeared at Ben's side.

'Well?' Maria whispered, clutching so hard to her wine glass it looked as though the stem might break. 'Did it happen?'

'Did what happen?'

Maria studied his face, perhaps trying to gauge whether or not he was joking.

'You are so useless!' she cried, raising the interest of a few nearby solicitors. 'How much more time do you need? How much more time do you think you have? Do you have the faintest idea-?'

Ben took a formidable sip of his now-warm prosecco. Maria sighed.

'I can't deal with Downward Spiral Ben again,' she said.

'Neither can I,' Ben said.

'Just stick your fucking tongue down her fucking throat already.'

Ben said nothing. Maria threw her hands up in frustration and stalked back to a waiting Christine, who was standing a bit away, plucking self-consciously at her clingy twin set.

'You two all right?' Tessa said when she reappeared with a full serving tray, picking off canapes with delicately-tipped nails.

Ben tried to stymie his growing flush. 'Fine,' he said. He watched as she popped caviar-topped crispbread between her lips.

'So this-' Ben nodded toward the tray in Tessa's arm. 'The Rubens. Does that mean the diet's over?'

Now it was Tessa's turn to blush. It was an odd sort of expression. She didn't look embarrassed, or shamed, or at all erotically piqued by the implication of those words. Instead, she looked vaguely unhappy before taking a bite of smoked salmon sandwich.

'Sorry,' Ben said.

'No, it's fine,' Tessa answered. 'It's just...I don't even know what I want anymore.'

'Your Mum's dress...'

She sighed. 'Guy got his wish, I suppose.'

Ben frowned and picked a sandwich off the tray, congratulating himself for not hurling it across the room in anger.

'It's not right, though,' she said, hurriedly now, as though if it didn't come out now, it wouldn't come out at all. 'I'm not getting fat for him. I don't want to get fat for him. I want to gain weight for myself, because I like how it looks and feels. And I want to get fat for-' She stopped and finished the corner of her sandwich, then took another. She didn't finish that thought.

'He's done so much for me,' she said quietly instead. 'Everything with my mum, and us moving down here, and letting me get this job. It's only right that I'm giving things up for him now.'

'Sorry?' Ben said.

She didn't answer him. 'He's more in love with me than ever,' she carried on. 'We're closer than ever. We're moving soon, did I tell you that? To a three bedroom, near a good school. For the kids.' She let out a little sob. 'If I don't get too fat to have them first.'

Ben didn't know what to say. He couldn't even process the heavy barrage of information she'd just laid out in front of him like a low concrete wall. _Love, kids, fat._ Three things he wanted. Three things Tessa had with someone else.

'Ben,' Tessa said, voice choked, still tearful. 'I need to tell you something.'

The clinking of a glass echoed through the room, and everyone stopped, turned. Everton was bellowing something, standing up on a bench, a glass in his hand. Ready to make his speeches.

Ben swore at the distraction, and turned back toward Tessa, her name on his lips.

But she wasn't there. The cardigan, handbag, space for her were gone. The happy buzz in his head was gone.

Tessa was gone.

The only thing left of her was the tray, sat completely empty on a table nearby, and the last, waning warmth of her hand.