by K. L. Slater
‘I can ask around,’ the manager told Monte doubtfully. ‘But our temporary help comes mainly from students who can’t work full-time, and I’ll be straight with you, I don’t want to let any of our permanent assistants go or that in turn gives me a problem.’
‘Understand completely, Col.’ Montague held out his hand. ‘Well, if you hear of anyone looking, let me know. I’ll be in next week to see the Aztec Lights exhibition.’
I watched as he strode out of the gallery with that distinctive long-legged gait I remembered from uni.
I rushed out after him.
‘Monte!’
He stopped walking and turned sharply, his hooked nose hawk-like. The furrows lining his brow quickly dissolved into a wide toothy grin.
‘Alice, dear girl!’ I ran up to him and we embraced. ‘How perfectly lovely to see you. How’re things… you still painting?’
‘A bit. Sometimes.’
‘Remember what I told you in class. You’ve got to just keep at it.’
I felt my face flush a little as I realised my next question would probably reveal my earlier eavesdropping.
‘Actually, Monte, I’m looking for work and I overheard you saying back there that you knew of someone who…’
‘… needs a gallery assistant!’ He beamed. ‘Would you be interested?’
‘Well, from what I overheard you saying, it sounds like just the sort of thing I’m looking for.’
‘Sly little fox, listening in.’ He narrowed his eyes and gave a hearty laugh as I felt a burst of heat in my face.
‘I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t mean to…’
‘Only joking, dear girl.’ He checked his watch. ‘Time for a quick coffee and a chat?’
Mum and I had agreed to meet outside the Cross Keys pub in fifteen minutes’ time. But she hadn’t texted yet and I couldn’t afford to pass up this opportunity. If I didn’t do something to cut Mum’s apron strings soon, I despaired of ever starting a life of my own, away from home.
‘I’d love to,’ I said.
Monte led the way across the road to a small Fairtrade coffee shop where the city’s arty types hung out.
While he queued for drinks, I texted Mum to say it would be another thirty minutes before I could meet her.
I looked around me, enjoying the spread of warmth inside with a mixture of excitement and terror. I’d had this place pegged as an art student hangout, but in actual fact, there were people from all age groups in here.
When I was still at university, I didn’t fall into the trap of making judgements about people and places, but since leaving, I’d become more cautious and, I suppose, afraid of putting myself out there. Although nobody could accuse me of not pushing myself forward today.
I saw that Monte was currently being served. In a few minutes, he’d be back at our table with the drinks and I’d find out if I really had a chance of working at The Art Box.
I couldn’t help reflecting on the strange turns life could take. I’d left the house two hours ago for a shopping trip with my mother, and now here I was with a possible dream job opportunity on the horizon.
‘Here we go.’ Monte placed a white mug in front of me. ‘One latte, as requested.’
‘Thanks.’ I picked up the mug and cradled it in my hands, willing the sting of the heat to sharpen my persuasive skills. ‘It’s so great to see you again, Monte. I can’t believe it’s been two years.’
‘Tell me what you’ve been doing with yourself.’ He took a sip of his cappuccino and licked the froth from his upper lip before raising his eyebrows.
‘Nothing particularly exciting,’ I said, wondering how I could make spending my days trailing around after my mother sound entertaining. ‘After uni I made a concerted effort to get my portfolio together. I was painting abstract portraits for a while, and then I tried some mosaic pieces but found I hadn’t really got the patience for it.’
‘Good that you’re trying new things, though.’ Monte nodded approvingly. ‘Keep giving yourself the time and space to experiment and sooner or later you’ll find your niche.’
I smiled and took a sip of my latte, shifting in my seat. I didn’t want to get bogged down in what my preferences were. I wanted a job in art.
Monte was a perceptive man. He coughed and put down his mug on the small, scratched table.
‘Well. Let’s not veer from the important matter in hand, which is the gallery assistant vacancy at The Art Box.’ He smiled at me. ‘When would you be available for interview?’
In that moment it felt like all my dreams had collided in a wonderful explosion of possibility. How could I have known it was just the opposite?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Three years earlier
Mum’s expression was thunderous as we crossed the road to the taxi rank.
‘I didn’t get your text until I’d been waiting here for a full five minutes, and now it’s nearly fifteen minutes after the time we agreed to meet. Where on earth did you get to?’
Undeterred, I linked my arm through hers and squeezed.
‘Remember Monte, my old university tutor?’ Her face remained blank as we clambered into the back of a green Hackney cab. ‘Well anyway, I bumped into him in Moderno, and guess what? I’ve got a job interview tomorrow morning!’
I knew the deal wasn’t done yet, but my heart felt like bursting. I just had to tell someone.
‘A job interview, where?’ Mum remained unimpressed.
‘There’s a new gallery opening in town soon. It’s going to be really important to our art scene here, and—’
‘I thought you meant a proper job. A career.’ She rolled her eyes as if I’d misled her, and looked out of the cab window.
I felt a flare of annoyance, but stepped on it before it gathered strength.
‘You know that’s what I’d like, though, Mum, a career involving art in some way.’ The taxi swung around a corner and I grasped the overhead handle. ‘Monte knows the gallery owner well. His name is Finn Visser. He’s quite a famous artist.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘He’s Dutch, and unless you’re into your art, you wouldn’t know of his work.’
‘If you’re ignorant,’ she remarked drily. ‘Like you obviously think I am.’
‘That’s not true, please don’t…’
‘Please don’t what?’
Ruin everything like you always manage to, I wanted to say.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I said instead. ‘I know it probably doesn’t seem like much to you, Mum, but for me it’s a very big deal.’
‘You haven’t any gallery experience, though.’
‘That’s what makes this chance so amazing. Mr Visser is a good friend of Monte’s and wants to employ someone he can trust from the off, someone who comes with a personal recommendation. He asked Monte to try and find a suitable local candidate.’
Despite Mum’s jibe, I had got lots of experience viewing art in galleries, as well as my degree, and Monte said I should use that as a selling point in the interview.
‘Well, I wouldn’t get your hopes up until this Visser man actually offers you the job,’ Mum said briskly. ‘That way, you won’t be disappointed.’
I stared at her smug, closed-off face. There was a sort of knowingness in her expression, an appreciation of my limitations. I’d seen it before, though it was usually aimed at Louise.
Mum was wrong, though. I’d be more than just disappointed if I didn’t get the job.
I’d be totally and utterly crushed.
* * *
The next morning, I arrived at the private members’ club in Hockley ten minutes before my interview time of ten o’clock.
I’d been awake since five a.m. I hadn’t slept all that well, but in a good way, because I was fizzing with anticipation of what might be.
I’d googled Mr Visser the evening before, and knew what he looked like. So a couple of minutes before ten, when a short, bald man wearing a loud printed shirt appeared in reception, wa
ved to the concierge and breezed past without so much as a glance in my direction, I knew he had arrived.
At five past ten, the concierge showed me through into a carpeted corridor. He tapped on a door and pushed it open, then disappeared again.
‘Come in, please.’ Visser appeared unsmiling at the door. He extended a small, clammy hand. ‘Finn Visser, pleased to meet you.’
His English was perfect, and the very slight accent was charming, but he didn’t look enthralled to be here.
‘Alice,’ I said feebly.
So much for having a recommendation from Monte. He didn’t seem overly friendly. Then again, what had I expected? ‘Hello, Alice, you’ve got the job’? Very doubtful.
I followed him into the small but tastefully decorated room and took a seat opposite what looked like an antique oak desk, complete with a blotter and an old-fashioned telephone.
‘So, Montague informs me you are interested in the gallery assistant position at the soon-to-be-opened Art Box?’
‘I am,’ I said. ‘Working in a gallery is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now.’
‘So why haven’t you?’
I paused before answering, watching his stubby fingers drum on the desktop. I found myself wondering how those hands could create such delicate sculptures.
‘There haven’t been any openings here in Nottingham.’
‘You won’t travel?’
‘I would, if the right job came up,’ I said, hoping that was what he wanted to hear.
He asked me about my experience, and I told him about my degree, studying under Montague Forster, and also spoke briefly about my preferences in terms of the art I liked to look at.
‘And tell me, Alice, why do you want to work in a gallery?’
He interlaced his fingers and placed them in front of him on the desk.
There were a thousand stock answers I could give that would sound intelligent, cultured and impressive, but I suspected Finn Visser had heard them all before.
So I told him the truth.
‘I want to bring art to real people.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘And how would you propose to do this?’
‘By talking to people, interacting with them in a real way. Not alienating them with jargon.’
‘Jargon?’
‘Yes, like talking about the metaphorical significance of the artist’s colour choice when someone has come in to look at a coastal landscape because they have memories of childhood holidays there.’
Was it my imagination, or had Visser’s face softened just a touch?
‘I see,’ he said, and then waited, as if he wanted more.
‘I’d like to take the time to show people how the artist has managed to infuse a piece with light, or how the angle of a sculpture changes the way you view it.’
‘To educate them.’
I shook my head.
‘To discuss art with them in a way that’s meaningful and that might help them to see why they should buy a piece with their hard-earned money.’ I think for a moment. ‘Equally, because of my own knowledge and interest in art, I would like to think I could talk metaphors all day long with a customer who initiated this approach.’
Visser smiled. He actually smiled.
‘This, I find, is a refreshing view. One I like and I think would fit very well in my new shop.’
My stomach bubbled in anticipation. It was a very positive reaction, but he hadn’t offered me the job yet.
‘I have already appointed a manager to run the shop; his name is Jim Saxby. He is at the premises now. Would you like to take a look?’
‘I would love to!’ I beamed, unable to rein in my enthusiasm.
Present day
The past dissolves like candyfloss as the tram approaches my stop.
It’s much quieter on board now that the rush hour has passed, and as I disembark and look up at the apartment block and my own empty window, my energy suddenly deserts me as though someone has pulled the plug.
I can’t wait to get inside and lock my memories and the whole world out.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘It’s like a flaming oven in here.’ Louise wafts her face when I open the door to her and a glum-looking Archie the next morning. ‘No wonder you never buy any new clothes; you must spend all your money on heating bills. You should treat yourself.’
I’ve never complained about lack of money to Louise, but she’s right, I haven’t bought anything new for ages. Mainly because there’s little reason to when I hardly go out.
I pull my T-shirt down over my sweatpants as if that might make them look a bit less ragged.
I did feel a bit of a state yesterday on the tram. A new pair of jeans, a warm but fashionable coat and some trendy ankle boots would be a big improvement. I could start with that anyway; even a few updated garments would help make a big difference.
‘You look really nice today,’ I tell her wistfully.
She’s wearing a three-quarter-length black mac over a navy shift dress. She’s paired it with black knee-length boots and some simple pearl dress jewellery. As usual, her make-up is flawless, and her dark auburn hair falls to her shoulders in soft, full waves.
‘I don’t know how, I had to rush like mad this morning to get ready.’ She sighs. ‘It’s such a pain having to drop Archie off here before I can go to work.’
I immediately feel as if it’s somehow my fault. It’s a talent she has that capitalises on a flaw that’s all mine.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got time for a quick coffee before you go?’ I say spontaneously.
I know I’ll probably regret it later, but I’m desperate to speak to someone about getting on the tram and seeing James yesterday.
Maybe I could even use this opportunity to chat as a step towards getting a little closer to my sister. She has lots more experience when it comes to men after all.
‘If only. I’ll try and drop in to see you one night after work later in the week.’ She calls through to Archie, who I’m pleased to see has already taken it upon himself to remove his shoes in the hallway. ‘See you later, pumpkin!’
When Louise has left, I take a glass of juice through to Archie.
‘We get juice at the breakfast club,’ he says, reaching for the TV remote. ‘I’m not allowed any at home. Mum always says I have to wait until I get to school.’
‘Oh well, I’ve poured it now.’ I hold out the glass. ‘How was school yesterday?’
‘OK, I suppose.’ He takes the drink and turns his attention back to the TV.
Sometimes, engaging Archie in conversation is difficult. I’ve read somewhere that technology is systematically robbing the young of decent communication skills, like talking face to face, for instance.
I pick up the remote control and turn off the television.
‘Hey!’ He lunges for it and I move it smartly aside, holding it mischievously behind my back.
‘Let’s make a deal. When you’re here and one of us wants to chat, we’ll turn off the television or your game. Deal?’
‘OK,’ he says slowly, looking at me as if I’ve gone mad.
‘We’ve got a lot of catching-up to do. We’re stuck with each other for a while, so we might as well be friends, right? Talk about interesting things occasionally.’
‘I suppose.’ He shrugs and thinks for a moment. ‘But I haven’t really got anything interesting to say.’
‘Oh, I doubt that. I’d love to learn more about science and stuff and I know you study all that at school.’
‘Really?’ His eyes widen. ‘Did you know there’s enough DNA in your body to stretch from the sun to Pluto and back?’
‘No way.’
‘It’s true, honestly, Auntie Alice. And there are EIGHT TIMES as many atoms in a teaspoon of water as there are teaspoonfuls of water in the Atlantic Ocean.’
‘That’s an awful lot of atoms,’ I gasp.
His face is alive now, his hands flying around in the air as he expresses himself. The
lethargic, reluctant boy who arrived ten minutes ago is nowhere to be seen.
‘OK, my turn.’ He sits upright to listen. ‘Did you know that… in space, the skin on your feet peels off?’
‘That’s gross!’
‘Gross, but true. In the microgravity environment, astronauts don’t need to walk, so the skin on their feet starts to soften and flakes off. When they eventually take off their socks, the dead skin cells float around in the weightless environment.’
‘Cool,’ Archie gasps, frowning slightly as he thinks it through. I feel a bit of a fraud having googled a couple of facts before he arrived. I’m certainly no expert on space.
‘See, having a chat can be far better than having the gogglebox on 24/7. We both just learned something. We might as well make the most of our time together.’
‘Mum says I won’t be coming here for long.’ He looks towards the window as if he’s deciding whether to say something. ‘Auntie Alice, Mum says you don’t do anything ALL DAY LONG. Is that true?’
‘I think it’s time I had a word with your mum,’ I say crossly as I hand him back the remote.
Archie turns his head sharply.
‘Why?’ His face looks a little paler.
‘Well, it sounds like she’s saying some pretty mean things about me that aren’t really true.’ Even as I speak, a little voice in my head asks what exactly I do do all day, but that’s hardly the point. ‘And it’s… it’s just not very nice.’ I wiggle the remote control at him. ‘I’m going to get ready now, so you can put the television on again for a little while if you like.’
Archie doesn’t snatch it back like I expect. ‘What will you say to her?’
‘Don’t look so worried.’ I smile. ‘I’ll just ask her to stop saying snide things.’
I place the control on the seat cushion and turn to leave the room. Archie jumps up and grabs hold of my arm.
