the idea that nobody but me and my sister and my uncle and aunt would actually like this stuff.”
“No way, Evie. That’s ridiculous. You must have other family members who would like it too.”
They laughed, and she did not want to spoil the moment by saying she did not.
“My old tutor might be good for one or two. He taught me at Camberwell, and as I said, he’s been a bit of a hero helping me to launch myself. I must admit that I love doing the work…but I’m not so great at selling it.”
He found it hard to credit that she did not make a good living from painting, but that was what she seemed to be suggesting.
“Well, isn’t that better than the other way around? Some artists can sell coal to Newcastle, but if the work isn’t worth the time they spend tweeting about it, then what’s the point?”
They drank more tea and talked with an ease that surprised them both. Evie dragged a few ill-fated attempts at working with clay out of the shed at the back. As she did so, she thought it was crazy to show a potential collector any examples of her work that had gone wrong, but she somehow knew instinctively that it didn’t matter. They laughed at them together, and quite against her expectations, everything felt fine. Evie had lost track of time, but Charlie knew that it was at least two hours since he arrived. It was a trick of the trade that he was astoundingly good at estimating time. It was part of the watchfulness and awareness that came with the territory, and out of habit, he was always measuring out time like so many spoons of sugar. He had asked Maureen to clear his diary for the morning, but his iPhone had begun buzzing away in his pocket. He hadn’t looked at it. He didn’t want to leave. When the studio phone rang, he didn’t think he had ever heard a louder ring.
“Hi, Evie Pemberton. … Hi, Milena. … Oh my God, is that the time? Okay. Give me five.”
She clunked the phone down, and he had a sinking feeling that he was about to be politely turned out.
“Sorry. That was home. I live next door, so I usually go home for lunch. It’s just sandwiches, but my sister’s there, and it’s kind of nice.”
He was about to say that he’d give her a ring when she astonished him.
“If you’d like to join, you’d be welcome. It’s nothing special, but it’s food, and it’s only next door. If you don’t have anything else planned, that is…”
“Erm, thanks, that would be great. I don’t have to be anywhere.”
“Okay, well, let’s go.”
She put their tea-stained mugs in the sink, and he watched her tussle with the Banham lock on the front door, yellow sunlight pouring down on her head. Eventually, she locked it, and they walked the few steps to the next door and went in.
“’S’me,” called Evie as she gestured for him to follow her. “Clem? Milena?”
A lilting eastern European accent came back from some unseen place. “We’re in here, Evie.”
Charlie followed her diminutive figure through the hall, along a slightly faded Chinese runner, and past stacks of unframed prints and canvasses. There was a suitcase open on the floor and seemingly full of medical kit. A grandfather clock with the mechanism taken out stood in the corner.
“I’ve got someone with me,” called Evie as they walked through a set of double doors into an airy dining room. The patio doors were open at the other end of the room, and outside a light breeze played fallen petals across the grass. You could hear the low moan of traffic on the King’s Road, and a carriage clock ticked on the mantelpiece littered with postcards and keys and the general detritus of a busy life. His eyes rested on her, and he cursed himself for not having guessed. Even in the wheelchair, you could see that she was Evie’s sister. Her hair was held back by a red Alice band, and a napkin had been tucked into the collar of her top. It fell over her chest like a flag on a still day. And that was how her body was generally;
“No way, Evie. That’s ridiculous. You must have other family members who would like it too.”
They laughed, and she did not want to spoil the moment by saying she did not.
“My old tutor might be good for one or two. He taught me at Camberwell, and as I said, he’s been a bit of a hero helping me to launch myself. I must admit that I love doing the work…but I’m not so great at selling it.”
He found it hard to credit that she did not make a good living from painting, but that was what she seemed to be suggesting.
“Well, isn’t that better than the other way around? Some artists can sell coal to Newcastle, but if the work isn’t worth the time they spend tweeting about it, then what’s the point?”
They drank more tea and talked with an ease that surprised them both. Evie dragged a few ill-fated attempts at working with clay out of the shed at the back. As she did so, she thought it was crazy to show a potential collector any examples of her work that had gone wrong, but she somehow knew instinctively that it didn’t matter. They laughed at them together, and quite against her expectations, everything felt fine. Evie had lost track of time, but Charlie knew that it was at least two hours since he arrived. It was a trick of the trade that he was astoundingly good at estimating time. It was part of the watchfulness and awareness that came with the territory, and out of habit, he was always measuring out time like so many spoons of sugar. He had asked Maureen to clear his diary for the morning, but his iPhone had begun buzzing away in his pocket. He hadn’t looked at it. He didn’t want to leave. When the studio phone rang, he didn’t think he had ever heard a louder ring.
“Hi, Evie Pemberton. … Hi, Milena. … Oh my God, is that the time? Okay. Give me five.”
She clunked the phone down, and he had a sinking feeling that he was about to be politely turned out.
“Sorry. That was home. I live next door, so I usually go home for lunch. It’s just sandwiches, but my sister’s there, and it’s kind of nice.”
He was about to say that he’d give her a ring when she astonished him.
“If you’d like to join, you’d be welcome. It’s nothing special, but it’s food, and it’s only next door. If you don’t have anything else planned, that is…”
“Erm, thanks, that would be great. I don’t have to be anywhere.”
“Okay, well, let’s go.”
She put their tea-stained mugs in the sink, and he watched her tussle with the Banham lock on the front door, yellow sunlight pouring down on her head. Eventually, she locked it, and they walked the few steps to the next door and went in.
“’S’me,” called Evie as she gestured for him to follow her. “Clem? Milena?”
A lilting eastern European accent came back from some unseen place. “We’re in here, Evie.”
Charlie followed her diminutive figure through the hall, along a slightly faded Chinese runner, and past stacks of unframed prints and canvasses. There was a suitcase open on the floor and seemingly full of medical kit. A grandfather clock with the mechanism taken out stood in the corner.
“I’ve got someone with me,” called Evie as they walked through a set of double doors into an airy dining room. The patio doors were open at the other end of the room, and outside a light breeze played fallen petals across the grass. You could hear the low moan of traffic on the King’s Road, and a carriage clock ticked on the mantelpiece littered with postcards and keys and the general detritus of a busy life. His eyes rested on her, and he cursed himself for not having guessed. Even in the wheelchair, you could see that she was Evie’s sister. Her hair was held back by a red Alice band, and a napkin had been tucked into the collar of her top. It fell over her chest like a flag on a still day. And that was how her body was generally;
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