‘But … the Coulson … isn’t that … that’s … that’s Rachel’s gallery!’
‘Well, yes, Charlie. That’s sort of the point. Now you have a reason to talk to her.’
He closed the door and stood in the hall for a moment, his fingers gripping the latch. He glanced at Becky, said, ‘Huh,’ then plodded past her and sank onto the sofa.
Becky continued, ‘Because you’ll have to chat about the exhibition, how you want to use the space, what you’re painting, the catalogue, publicity …’ She bit her lip. Perched on the edge of the sofa, Charlie had hunched forward and was staring at the wall behind the television. His right hand covered his mouth, the top finger tapping a regular rhythm on his upper lip. And though bright sunlight streamed through the windows on both sides of the room, the area around him seemed gloomy and crawling with shadows.
Becky folded her arms. Getting Charlie to join her in a victory dance was definitely out of the question. She should have expected as much. But a little enthusiasm would have been nice. In fact, any reaction would have been preferable to his withdrawal into his own head, no doubt full of worries about putting on an exhibition when he still wasn’t painting. That would be the next thing to fix.
She would have to snap him out of it. Time for another distraction.
‘I have to go up and talk to Phoebe about some babysitting, but first I’m going to give you some homework.’
Charlie moved his hand to uncover his mouth, leaving his chin resting in his palm. ‘Homework?’
‘I need you to start thinking about what you’re going to write in your first email to Rachel. Now don’t panic,’ she said, as Charlie’s eyes bulged, ‘it’ll be nothing complicated. “Hello” and “maybe you could send me the paperwork I need to sign”, et cetera. I’ll help you. I just need you to think about it. This weekend’s very busy for me but we’ll get together and send it next week. OK?’
She waited for Charlie to acknowledge her last comments, but he seemed to have vacated his body, leaving it staring open-mouthed at the floor. Deciding to give him time to process, she nipped upstairs to have a quick chat with Phoebe and left five minutes later, easing the front door shut behind her.
Charlie remained unaware of her departure and the arrival of dusk until Phoebe came to tell him she was going out to dinner with friends.
In the kitchen he dug about in the freezer, though he had no appetite. His stomach felt as though it were full of smouldering coals, releasing a heat which was drying his throat and building up pressure in his head. He was unsure which terrified him more: having to fill a gallery with paintings or speak to Rachel. Probably the latter. He and Mel had been married for nineteen years, if you counted the last six, and they had been together for six years before their wedding. He couldn’t remember exactly how their relationship had started, how or if he had wooed her, what he had said or done. And now Becky was pushing him towards Rachel and well beyond his comfort zone.
He had never found it easy to talk to anyone, and women, especially attractive women, were a particular problem. Yes, he had chatted to Rachel on previous occasions, but always in the safety of a group. If he were ever alone with her, he wouldn’t have the first clue what to say.
A sharp squeal came from the hinges as he slammed the freezer door closed. Damn Becky and her successful meddling! ‘Email Rachel, Charlie’. ‘It’s easy, Charlie’. Why did she assume everything was so bloody easy? He already had enough problems with paint. The last thing he needed was writer’s block.
AUGUST
Chapter 14
When Becky had accepted bookings for every weekend in August, her priority had been maximising income during the highly lucrative, but equally short, peak of the wedding season. How she was going to get the work done had seemed comparatively trivial. But now, as she goggled at her bursting agenda, she wished she could go back in time and stop herself from being so stupid.
Charlie’s continued lack of inspiration was the other big work-related worry. For once entirely stumped, Becky turned to Lauren for advice. But while Charlie’s sister was eager to provide insight into her brother’s character, her only suggestion regarding ending Charlie’s creative slump was patience. This squared with the rest of her comments about painting as his preferred means of self-expression. It had always irked her that her brother could swiftly translate his thoughts and feelings onto a canvas and display it to the world, while getting him to talk about the same thoughts and feelings was a painfully slow process. She found that nagging, like the dripping of water on stone over millennia, eventually penetrated Charlie’s stubborn silences. Similarly, if Becky were able to wait a little longer, perhaps the pressure of the upcoming show would jolt Charlie into a return to production?
She also suggested Becky turn her attention to Phoebe while she was waiting. Lauren was worried her niece was ambling through her summer and wondered whether Becky could find her something to do other than reading. And after sleeping on it, Becky came up with an idea which could allay Lauren’s concerns and solve some of her own more immediate problems.
She invited Phoebe to visit the next afternoon and, as they played with Dylan in the garden, Becky interrogated the teenager about her previous employment.
‘Nothing? Not a Saturday job or paper round?’ Becky asked, as Phoebe tipped out another bucket of sand, much to Dylan’s delight.
Sitting in the sunshine next to the sandpit, Phoebe’s hair glistened as she shook her head. ‘I thought about it, but I’ve had a lot of reading.’
Becky sighed and reassured herself that the proposal she was about to make wasn’t ridiculous. She had overstretched herself and needed help. And student labour had always worked for Ronnie.
‘How would you like to work for me until the end of the year? It’d be work experience, so no salary, but I’d cover your expenses. It would also mean working a few Friday nights and weekends, and I’d need your help with your dad’s show too.’
Phoebe wrinkled her nose and Becky couldn’t blame her. She’d made the job sound about as appetising as one of Dylan’s mud pies. Something else was needed to improve the sale.
‘And, as my former intern, I think I’d be able to get you work experience next summer with a law firm in London. I know a few lawyers who owe me a favour.’
Dylan destroyed the castle with the gleeful cackle which accompanied anything falling or being knocked down.
Phoebe swayed her head, then nodded. ‘OK. What exactly do you do?’
Becky grinned. She had seen the girl’s initiative and persuasiveness first hand. If she turned out to be as useful at work as she was with Dylan, this internship could be the answer to her prayers. And she might even take up Phoebe’s repeated offer to watch Dylan while she went to the hairdresser’s for the first time in over a year.
‘I’ll explain the events stuff as we go. It’s never the same from one to the next. But, in the meantime, I have another job for you: the publicity for your dad’s exhibition.’
‘Don’t the gallery take care of that?’
‘Their main concern is promoting the gallery. We want to promote your dad and his work. That’s why we are going to let Ms Stone and her winged monkeys get word out about the show while we make people care about Charlie and his art.’