Freddie didn’t want to go straight home after work. He’d been off-key all day, distracted and bad-tempered, fizzing with pent-up energy. So he decided to do what he always did in situations like this, what his hours and hours of in-patient therapy had taught him. He reached into his mental health toolkit and decided to go for a walk.
There was no planned route, no time limit. He’d just pick a direction and go. When he hit a crossroads, he’d look for signs: if the green man was showing he’d continue onwards, if not, he’d take a turn. If he liked the look of a building, he aimed for it; if a shop-front caught his eye, that was next. There weren’t any rules when Freddie was walking. He went on instinct, following whatever his gut said to him in the moment, free from habits and compulsions. It was intensely relaxing.
He stopped outside the Central Art Gallery, realising that he’d not gone inside in years. He’d been here on school trips when he was younger, and then again a handful of times to see an exhibition or just to wander. Right now, there was something in his mind that was almost like a lightbulb switched on, a recognition that made him wonder if someone had mentioned it recently, or if he’d seen a poster on the Tube advertising it.
The gallery was having a late opening, but there weren’t many people around. As he paced through the rooms, taking a moment here and there to pause and let a painting wash over him, enjoying the feeling and fragrance of the rich, varnished hardwood beneath his feet, the sense of familiarity intensified. Who was it that he’d heard talking about this place? Like an important word teetering on the tip of his tongue it annoyed him.
Then he saw her and realised. She must have mentioned it at a meeting. This was where Kate worked.
He thought about rushing away in the opposite direction, but then worried that the sudden movement would attract too much attention. She was talking to someone in a suit who looked important, and he didn’t want to distract her. He didn’t want her to notice him at all. So instead he sauntered to the side, hoping that a pillar would do enough work to hide him.
‘Excuse me . . .’ Damn it. He’d been spotted. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
Chapter 12
He looked so out of place in this gallery she knew so well. Kate felt as if she was at sea, trying to keep her footing as the ship rocked around her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, trying to sound breezy and cool when actually she was worrying if her manager was far enough away, or if Renee was going to appear suddenly around a corner and ask to be introduced. Kate wouldn’t have been able to bear that.
‘I didn’t know you worked here, I swear! At least, I only realised when I came in and saw you,’ Freddie replied. He did not sound breezy and cool.
‘But why did you come?’
‘I was walking. I was thinking and walking and then I was outside and it was open. I’m sorry. I can go, I can disappear. I don’t want this to be weird.’
It’s already weird, Kate thought.
She liked Freddie, had felt keenly for him whenever he had shared his experiences in group, had enjoyed his company in the pub afterwards, but they barely knew each other. Certainly not enough for him to just turn up at her workplace.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked him.
She considered him, his shoulders sloping as though he wanted to make himself three feet shorter, the shine on his forehead causing strands of hair to darken and stick, the aura of sorrow that seemed to cloud him sometimes.
‘Oh, I’m fine. Totally fine.’
She’d watched him enough in group, how his posture would change when he was talking about his anxiety and his fears.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. He didn’t argue with her.
‘I should go. You’re working.’
Kate could have let him go. She could have waved him off, then wandered over to the next room she was meant to be patrolling. She didn’t have to care about him, and yet . . . He just seemed so sad. She didn’t need to know why, but the least she could do was offer her company.
‘I finish in twenty minutes. And look around, the place is empty. But if someone who works here comes along, just pretend you’re asking me directions to the gift shop or something.’
‘I don’t want to disturb you.’
‘From what, all the art thieves?’
‘No, but . . . I don’t know.’
‘You’re fine, Freddie. Don’t worry. At least, don’t add to your worrying.’
Kate noticed that Freddie kept his hands tense in his pockets as they slowly walked, moving to stand in front of a painting of a naked bathing nymph.
‘So, you just walk around? Keeping an eye on things?’ he asked, his voice still nervous.
‘Oh, it’s much more than that. There’s floor-plan logistics, the sociology of crowd control, expert levels of art history knowledge, gift shop economics.’ Freddie was staring at her, baffled. ‘But mostly, yeah. I just walk around, keeping an eye on things.’
He seemed reluctant to smile at the joke.
‘Do you ever get bored?’
‘Not really. Some people do, but I find things to think about. It can be quite a nice mindfulness exercise sometimes. Doesn’t matter what’s going on outside, this place is like a bubble. Nothing can bother me here. All I have to do is think about what’s going on inside these walls. The people, the paintings. The rest of the world can wait.’
‘That sounds nice.’
‘Look at that couple there,’ Kate gave Freddie a gentle nudge, indicating two people just in front of them. A woman in a sleek black coat was standing, eyes focused on the painting before her, next to a man in oversized trousers who was looking anywhere but. ‘I reckon they’re on the verge of divorce. Or, if they’re not married, at least breaking up. She’s dragged him here on a date night, maybe they’re going to dinner later, and she thought a trip to a gallery would be romantic. Maybe they had their first date here, and they’re trying to rekindle something. But he’s squirming. He hates it. He’s doing the absolute minimum to get away with making her happy . . . except she’s not happy. She wants him to be different. He’s trying to do what she wants, but it’s not going to work.’
‘You can tell all that just from staring at their backs?’
‘No, but I can imagine it. They might not even know each other. It’s one of the games I play to keep my mind busy. Imagine tragic or romantic backstories for visitors.’
Sure enough, the couple parted and started walking in opposite directions, paying each other barely any attention. They were strangers after all. Kate sighed.
‘Can I play the game?’ Freddie asked.
‘Go for it.’
She looked up at him as he scanned the gallery, one of the larger rooms, but at this late hour with barely a soul in it.
‘There,’ he indicated with a nod of the head to a young man, just out of his teens, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a sketchbook in front of a portrait of a woman in a headwrap. ‘He got rejected from art school, so comes here every evening to work on his skills. He sits, and he studies, but his friends and family all laugh at him because really, he’s not very good. He wants to be, but no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t get it right.’