‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ he replies mildly.
I glance across at him in the silvery light. He’s waiting.
‘I was looking at the water and it reminded me of black-and-white marble and that made me think of this place in Tuscany that I’ve heard about called Pietrasanta. It’s a beautiful medieval town where quite a few international artists live and work – even the zebra crossings are made out of marble. The Royal Society of Sculptors arranges trips where you can visit the marble quarries and the old ateliers to watch local marble carvers in action, but you have to be a member to be invited.’
‘Do you use marble?’ he asks.
‘No, I don’t really see myself as a carver. I feel most at home with clay.’
A sudden burst of laughter behind us from Finn’s fangirls jolts me violently back into my surroundings.
‘Oh God,’ I mutter, knowing they weren’t laughing at me, but they would have if I’d been speaking loudly enough. ‘I’m lecturing again – sorry. This is what I’m like when I get started.’
‘Don’t say that,’ he says. ‘It’s fascinating.’
‘You don’t have to be nice about it. My friends’ eyes glaze over whenever I talk about sculpture.’
‘I’m not your friends. How do you become a member?’
I clear my throat, the prickling feeling that’s been dancing around my face beginning to ease. ‘You have to be anestablished sculptor and you have to have createdworks of note, which feels like a long way off for me.’
‘It’s good to have something to aspire to, though.’
I look across at him and realise that I more than fancy him – Ilikehim.
He’s only here for a few more weeks, I remind myself.
‘What do you aspire to?’ I ask, ignoring my own warning.
‘Seeing if we can get things to take off with the band, I guess. I’d give anything to be able to write songs for a living.’
‘Have you recorded any? Maybe I’ll add them to my playlist,’ I say teasingly.
He casts me a grin. ‘Only demos. But we’re going into the studio the week after I get back to lay down an EP.’
‘That sounds exciting.’
‘What areyourplans for the foreseeable future?’ he asks, and I love the way he speaks in that slow, lazy, almost sardonic way of his.
I feel a familiar thrum of nerves as I think about how to respond. I haven’t yet admitted my plan to anyone.
‘I’m saving to move to London. I’m going to find a job in a studio.’ It feels good to say it out loud. ‘A couple of people who came to my degree show said they would connect me with their friends.’ I’m a member of a-n, a special organisation for artists, and I’ve also been keeping my eyes peeled on their website for opportunities. ‘I’m hoping someone might be interested in having a general dogsbody to help out, make lunches, unpack clay, clean up afterwards. I’d learn so much watching another sculptor at work, and if they don’t want topay me or even cover my food and board, I could get a bar job in the evenings to get by.’ I release a long breath.
His eyes gleam in the darkness with reflected moonlight. ‘That sounds like agreatplan. Why the sigh?’
‘My parents would like me to stay here permanently,’ I explain. ‘They’ve offered to support me while I find my feet, and they’ve even turned our greenhouse into a studio, which is so incredibly nice of them, but I don’twantto settle in Aggie. I want to be around other artists, to keep learning and growing.’
My parents are amazing people who have saved countless lives and I’m so very proud of them. All they want is for Michael and me to be our best versions of ourselves, but I’m not sure that my idea of my best version aligns with theirs. In their perfect world, I would have opted to study medicine or law or something more traditional and only sculpt as a hobby. But barring that, their goal is that I stay in St Agnes.
I know that they love me and don’t mean to be controlling, but the conversion of the greenhouse has created a lot of pressure. Its presence in the garden reminds me daily of my selfishness for wanting to leave.
‘I love my parents to bits, but I do sometimes feel as though they don’t really understand me, not in the way my grandmother did. She would have urged me to put myself out on a limb, to be brave. To see where life takes me.’
I miss her so much.
‘I’m sorry,’ Finn says.
His quiet sincerity brings on another wave of embarrassment. I impulsively swipe the bottle from his hand and try to swallow down my discomfort with a large mouthful.
