‘Woah! That’s harsh. What were his credentials?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Was he an artist? An art teacher?’
She laughed. ‘He worked in a double-glazing showroom and couldn’t draw for toffee.’
‘Then why would you listen to his feedback?’
‘Because…’ She shrugged. ‘He had a way of getting under my skin and tapping into my insecurities and self-doubts.’
I could relate to that. Anyone who worked creatively such as artists, writers and musicians poured their heart and soul into their work and it could cut so deeply when anyone criticised it – more so when that person was meant to be the love of their life. I’d believed Ingrid’s negative comments for far too long and, if Anastasia had talent, I couldn’t bear for her to go on believing that she didn’t because of what somebody with no artistic background had cruelly said to her.
‘I’d love to see your work.’
‘Jed, I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time.’
‘You wouldn’t be. You’d be pushing yourself forward and getting feedback from someone who actually knows what they’re talking about. Unless you didn’t mean it when you said you wanted to work on that.’
She rolled her eyes and sighed but dug out her phone, scrolled for a moment, then looked up at me. ‘Don’t get too excited.’
I glanced down at the first photo and my heart leapt as it always did when I saw beautiful artwork. The colourful beach huts positioned in a curve at the top of the cliff at North Bay were instantly recognisable, despite the muting of the colours, and the foreground of wildflowers framed them perfectly. The next painting was also at North Bay but looking out towards the sea and castle, again with wildflowers in the foreground. I continued to scroll through, occasionally zooming in to check the detailand brushwork.
Anastasia looked terrified when I handed back her phone.
‘Clearly your ex knows nothing. Obviously I’m only looking at photos and nothing beats seeing the real thing but, from what I can tell, these are exquisite.’
She released what sounded to me like a nervous laugh. ‘You don’t have to be nice. I know they’re not up to much.’
‘If that was true, I might have said something likethe colours are prettyoryou’ve picked some great locations. I wouldn’t have used the wordexquisite. Where do you keep the originals?’
‘I’ve got a studio in my garden.’
‘Can I visit it?’
‘You really think they’re okay? Calvin said?—’
‘They’re so much more thanokay. You need to forget every bit of criticism this Calvin ever said to you because he couldn’t be more wrong.’
The gallery phone rang so, while Anastasia answered it, I ran up the stairs and gave Tara a quick call. When I returned, Anastasia was off the phone and dusting the shelves.
‘It’s your fortieth birthday,’ I said, ‘and you have no plans for tonight so what would you say to Tara and me bringing a takeaway round to yours and having a private viewing of your collection while we’re there?’
She took a deep breath and smiled at me. ‘I meant it when I said this is the decade of pushing myself forward so, even though it scares me, it’s a yes.’
‘Brilliant! I can’t wait. And let this be your first lesson on what pushing yourself forward can do. You pushed yourself forward by putting some posts on the socials and it’s got you a promotion. You mentioned your birthday and your drawings and it’s got you a night in with friends. Who knows what else might happen?’
Her smile widened. ‘It’s a good lesson.’
‘Don’t forget it.’
17
TARA
Anastasia had been a customer at The Chocolate Pot for about a year but our conversations had always been snatched, typically revolving around the weather and how busy or slow business was. I’d always liked her and had suspected we’d be friends if we had more time to chat, but the opportunity had never arisen. I was therefore really looking forward to spending some quality time with her this evening and loved that Jed had suggested it. Having spent so many years on my own, feeling lonely and ignoring my birthday, I hated the thought of somebody else doing the same.
‘If her watercolours are as good as the photos suggested, will you stock them in the gallery?’ I asked Jed as we drove towards Little Sandby, the smell of a takeaway from The Bombay Palace making my stomach rumble.
