‘If that’s your idea of christening a building, we’re going to have some serious discussion.’
He sniggers. ‘Well, I’ve brought my easel all this way so I may as well use it.’
‘I’m sure you don’t get your easel out for just anyone.’ I sink back into my seat.
‘You’re right, I don’t, so make the best of it while you have access to it.’
I clap a hand to my mouth and cough on a mouthful of bacon. ‘Stop it.’
‘You started it.’ He smiles down at his plate. ‘You know, this meal would be perfect if it had tattie scones and black pudding.’
I gag and call for another coffee.
‘And you’re doing what while I’m painting? You mentioned stationery,’ he says. ‘Your friend’s wedding?’
‘Thank you for reminding me! I volunteered you for something.’ I reach across and take his coffee. It’s bitter and black, but it’ll do until mine comes. Funnier still is the fact that he doesn’t flinch at the theft.
‘Here we go,’ he says through a yawn.
‘Sorry, I’d completely forgot until now.’ I cringe. ‘Are you mad at me?’
‘You haven’t told me what it is, but please don’t say you want to commission a wedding gift,’ he says with a groan. ‘They are the absolute worst. You know, I did one once. The bride hated it.’
‘What? No. She’s going to use disposable cameras on the table. I said that I, we, you could take care of developing the film.’
‘I did say I wanted to learn.’ He sounds surprised. ‘Ask and ye shall receive, right?’
‘Is that okay?’ I shrink back a little.
‘Fine by me,’ he says. ‘Though, if I may be blunt?’
‘Are you ever anything but?’ I pop food in my mouth and smile around my fork.
‘That may be so,’ he concedes, brows raised. ‘Still, I’ve noticed you do a lot for Lainey but, from what I’ve seen, you don’t get a lot in return? Even your father said she absconded the minute someone suggest she help the other day.’
‘I’ll give you that,’ I say. ‘I’m hoping it’s only because of the wedding right now. She’s busy, she’s stressed. Fingers crossed life will go back to normal soon.’
He forks his pancakes. ‘You went to London the other day to help her, yes? How’d that go?’
‘Oh, you mean the great north–south divide?’ I grin.
The mention of the dress fitting, knowing it threw us completely off trajectory, rankles me, stirs up an old irritation.
‘Here’s the thing.’ I lean back into the booth.
‘Shoot.’ He puts his cutlery down and gives me his full attention.
It’s so refreshing to be with someone who’s not busily checking his diary, or tapping off a reply to an urgent email, or is looking generally distracted by a random fact of law that leaves a comet trail through his mind. It’s a world away to how I’m used to being treated, and it’s in this moment that I realise this and appreciate him so much more.
‘So, it’s a total thrill to watch your friend getting ready to marry the love of her life. Who doesn’t want to revel in the happiness of others? It’s beautiful. But something’s been bugging me lately,’ I say.
‘What kind of something?’
‘You know how, when you’ve done the same thing for so long and you’re living in your own curated bubble, everything makes sense? There’s a whole lot of confirmation bias and the world works as it always has and you’re happy like that?’
‘Isn’t that most of us?’
‘Then life changes and you step into a new arena. You form new habits and make new friends.’ I gesture to him. ‘Then, when you try and fit back into that old life it just feels wrong? All the problems and issues and things that you never saw before are being delivered in 4K HD with 7.1 Dolby sound?’
‘That sounds like it was a huge success.’ He glances away momentarily to look for a napkin.
‘No, no, no. Look, I’m not saying it was awful. Far from it. I enjoyed seeing her. I’ve always loved spending time with her. I just, I don’t know, maybe I realised things are changing, life is evolving, and some of those friends I thought would be around into old age are being left behind. Things just aren’t quite how they used to be. It’s hard to explain, and I realise it sounds rather apocalyptic. It’s not meant to be.’
‘In my experience, some friendships don’t survive cataclysmic change,’ he says. ‘Or maybe it’s just another evolution. Things will eventually settle into a new normal.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, though I immediately feel bad that I’m concerned about a wedding in the face of everything he’s been through. ‘A wedding isn’t really cataclysmic.’
‘Moving away, opening a new business, change of priorities?’ He motions to the space around us. ‘Could be the perfect storm?’
A fresh cup of milky coffee is placed between us. Christopher looks at it, looks at me, and looks back at it again before snatching it up and taking a sip.
Christopher opens the rear door of his Defender. It may be bruised and battered with questionable rust spots but, inside are six carefully wrapped and transported pieces of art. I bounce on the spot, race to unlock the gallery door and straight back to him as I try my best to see through the layers of bubble wrap.
‘Are you kidding me?’ I throw an arm around his neck and pull him down into a kiss. ‘You. Are. The. Best.’
‘Yes, I am,’ he says proudly, calling to my retreating back, ‘They’re not all quite ready, but tomorrow I should have more.’
I pop my head back out the gallery door. ‘They’ll be worth the wait.’
‘I’m worth the wait,’ he argues, pointing at himself. ‘Me.’
‘I wouldn’t know!’ I shout. ‘You went home last night!’
‘Oh, boohoo.’
I can still hear the echo of his laughter as I slip into the main room. It’s like Christmas all over again. I’m dancing in a snowfield of bubble wrap that’s tossed all over the floor and trying to decide where each piece needs to be hung. Screw today’s plans, this is much more inspiring.
When it comes time to unwrap five of his six pieces – the last one he wants to paint today – I want to burst with excitement. Among them is a still life of the front door of my father’s shop, a tram that’s almost as tall as I am, and a dazzling portrait of Joe Cocker.
‘He’s local,’ he reasons. ‘Someone will buy it.’
‘I love them all.’ I clap my hands. ‘Let’s hang them. I’ll go get the fasteners.’
‘What? Now?’ he asks. ‘You don’t have them all yet. How do you know how they’ll all fit together?’
I gawp about for a moment. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Katharine, you know the answer to that.’
‘Please?’ I clasp my hands in front of me. ‘I thought you said you were good with your hands.’
‘Oh, I’m very good with my hands.’ He points to the portrait in front of him.