‘What are we going to do?’ she asks. ‘We’re fifteen short.’
‘That’s okay. We can order more.’ I turn to look at the girl behind the counter. She looks up and smiles.
‘What if the paper doesn’t come in time?’ she almost cries ‘I need my menu cards!’
‘You’ll have them in plenty of time,’ I stress. ‘You don’t need them done immediately, and I’m not going to be able to do all of these this afternoon. Place an order. I can pick it up during the week and voila: menu cards.’
‘Can’t we try other stores?’ she asks. ‘Isn’t there another shop in Devonshire Street?’
‘You want me to buy from a shop that’s not my father’s?’
‘What are you? On commission?’ she snaps.
I’d like to think I understand the pressure she’s under, but I don’t appreciate the attitude. Hairs rise across my arms and up the back of my neck. ‘What?’
Despite my irritation at her fresh case of Bridal Brain, her words give me a lightbulb moment. I’m not sure if it’s a fizzling bulb swinging in a dank dripping room, or the beginnings of a golden goose idea, but I turn and weave my way back through the store, slipping through the aisles until I find Christopher.
‘Back for more?’ he asks as I approach.
‘You know me,’ I quip, picking up a masking fluid and pretending to read the label. ‘Can’t keep away.’
‘Cheap shit brand,’ he says quietly.
‘No commission,’ I blurt.
Slowly, he places a paintbrush back on the shelf and turns to me. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Also, you’re better off with this brand of paintbrush. The fibre is finer, and it glides through paint better.’ I grab for another brush and wave it in his face. Wait. Where did that come from? It feels like an old script trying to upsell products to students on rainy afternoons. ‘What if I did a show with no commission? Would you agree to that?’
My stomach clenches as I wait for his answer. He’s considering my proposal, I’m sure he is by the way he meets my eyes and looks away just as quickly a number of times. Then again, he always seems as if he’s thinking about everything all at once. Hugging myself, I shuffle about on my feet and wait for an answer. Behind me, Lainey has thought better of hunting down every shop in town, and slinks over to the counter to place an order.
‘You want to open your business on a no commission show?’ Christopher breaks the silence.
‘That’s correct.’ Even I can hear the tremor in my voice. ‘None at all.’
‘Are you seriously that desperate?’ he says through a rueful laugh.
‘I am not desperate.’
He sniffs. ‘It’s either that, or Daddy’s topping up the current account.’
‘Are you shitting me?’ I say firmly. ‘Nobody is financing this but me. I can walk out this door right now and call any number of artists in London. I have a Rolodex full of them. They’d be right there in your place, but I’m asking you because I like your work and want to show it.’
‘By all means, call them,’ he says. ‘Pick someone who’s already firmly entrenched in the set instead of looking for someone new and undiscovered locally. Yes, let’s praise the same banal, black and white world where you look at the same art all the time.’
‘What the hell is your problem with me?’ I say, raising my voice.
‘What the hell is your problem with local artists?’ he counters. ‘I don’t understand this reluctance, Katharine. Just pick someone already. Or are we not good enough? The old north–south divide dies on its sword.’
‘Are you not a local artist?’
He stares at me.
‘You know, I don’t understand you,’ I continue, hands slapping against my thighs. ‘You want to sell your art, but you don’t want to show it. Instead, you’re happy to offer up your students. People no one has ever heard of, by the way. And then you tell me I don’t support local art even though, last time I checked, you are local. I don’t get it.’
‘So you keep saying,’ he snaps.
‘What have I done wrong? Have I come in and upset your balance of power?’ I continue. ‘Have I eaten into the attention sprinkled on you by the adoring public? What is it? Because, right now, I can’t work you out.’
‘Katharine, I—’
‘Katharine, I nothing.’ I’m so enraged I’m scared of what’s about to come out of my mouth. ‘I have tried and tried and tried with you. I want to work with you. You. Not your class, but you. And every single time I come near you, you belittle and criticise, and you slice that wound open further. Well, I’ll tell you what, I’ll crack open the thinners, shall I? You can just splash it on like Hendo’s.’
He dips his head in something I hope might be contrition. His mouth moves and eyes glisten as they dart about in a silent call for help, but nothing comes out. Everything is perfectly, terrifyingly silent.
‘You think you’re special because you’ve got your school for the gifted and all I did is, what, quit my day job? Like that makes me less worthy of anything than you? Give me a break. You’ve got so many walls up around you it’s like running a fucking gauntlet just to get you to hold conversation.’ My voice scratches and breaks. ‘You don’t want to work with me? Fine. I don’t care anymore, go find someone else to insult and leave me alone.’
I turn to find both Lainey and the girl behind the counter staring in shock. The way we’re positioned in the shop, it’s like the unholy trinity of ridiculousness. Lainey does the Ramsay Bolton sausage wave with the cardstock she’s collected. I’d laugh if I weren’t so furious.
‘Are you done?’ she ventures carefully.
Chapter 16
‘He is bloody awful.’ Lainey makes a face like she’s caught the tail end of a foul smell as she scurries along beside me. ‘Even the girl behind the counter was gobsmacked. She called him a twonk. Her name is Lolly, by the way. She’s lovely. She says the paper will be in this week.’
I stop still and look at her, narrowly avoiding a collision with a bicycle courier who skirts around me, bell ringing in frustration. At least their passing gives me a tickle of breeze. Between my frustration at both Christopher and her today, my mind goes blank.
‘And you’ve been chasing him?’ Lainey continues.
I give her a curt look. ‘Not anymore. Obviously.’
Somewhere in this adventure, the lines have blurred between my competitive streak (getting him to agree with me) and the desperate desire to open with a bang (having him show his art again would attract attention, I was sure of it). Then again, I’m not so sure they were all that mutually exclusive to begin with. The result? I am livid, and not through some sense of loss, but because there’s a niggling feeling poking me in the chest that’s telling me Christopher was right in his initial assessment of me.
I am a snobbish, spotlight-chasing idiot.
‘But what about the list we made?’ Lainey says as we start walking again.
That, and I already have an inbox full of desperate artists looking for a show.