I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of the question coming from directly behind me in the darkness. I spin round to face Finn, my hand clutched to my chest.
‘A good time forwhat?’ I ask breathlessly.
I’m on my doorstep, about to insert my key into the lock. I thought he’d gone on ahead with the others. Dan and Tarek are having people back to theirs again, but Amy has Rach to play her wingwoman and I’m ready for bed.
‘A good time to see your greenhouse studio,’ he replies with a grin.
‘What,now?’ I ask with alarm.
‘Why not?’
I stare up at him for several long seconds and he holds my gaze. He’s serious. My heart thrills that he’s keen – not even Rach and Amy have asked to see my work – but I’m also apprehensive about what he’ll think.
I didn’t speak to him again after the water fight. In the chaos that ensued, he wasn’t exactly available for quiet conversation.
The insecure part of me resolved that I’d been boring him, but now, only half an hour later, he’s sought me out again.
‘We’d better go in through the gate,’ I decide, glad of the Dutch courage I’ve gained by way of vanilla vodka.
I don’t want to rouse my parents’ interest by entering through the house.
More to the point, I don’t want to give my mum cause to spy through the cracks between the curtains, which is exactly what she’d be doing if she knew that I was out here with a boy.
I gently rattle the latch until it comes free and then lift the heavy wooden gate to stop it from scraping along the ground, closing it in the same manner behind us.
‘Cool car,’ Finn says, nodding at the Austin Healey parked next to my parents’ grey BMW 3 Series.
‘It’s my dad’s,’ I reply in a whisper.
‘Does he ever let you drive it?’
‘With him, but he won’t let me take it out on my own. It’s not safe enough.’
My parents are quite protective.
We’re right outside the greenhouse when I remember that the door is locked.
‘Oh. The key is in my room. I don’t want to disturb my parents, but look, you can see through the window.’
I pull out my phone and switch on the torch, then press it right against the glass to reduce the glare.
Finn gasps and recoils.
I stifle a laugh. I should have warned him.
‘Whoa,’ he says, stepping closer. ‘Whoisthat?’
‘My gran,’ I reply.
He cups his hands to the glass and peers through.
Once, when I was six or seven, I tried to build a sandcastle in the shape of a Trafalgar Square lion. Michael and I had goneto the beach in St Ives with Mum and Gran and I was completely caught up in what I was doing. I didn’t want to take a break to play catch with Michael, but he was so persistent that I dragged myself away. Then he accidentally trampled right through my sandcastle – I was so upset.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ I remember Gran saying. ‘Let’s go and get you some modelling clay from the art-supplies shop. It’s not as fragile as sand.’
That was my introduction to sculpting and it sparked off a deeper fascination, which Gran always nurtured.
So, for my degree show, I decided to honour her.
