The look I cast over at the band hooks once more on Finn.
‘I’ll be here,’ I reply, attempting to reel my attention back in.
‘In that case, these are on the house. What’ll it be?’
‘Pint of Rattler, please!’ Rach pipes up.
He looks at me.
‘Same, thanks.’ I fancy a Cornish cider.
‘And two tequila shots!’ Rach calls after him as he pulls down a couple of plastic pint glasses from the rack above the bar.
‘What? No!’ I whack my friend’s arm.
‘Come on,’ she begs. ‘The last time we hung out properly was New Year’s Eve and you’ll be working from tomorrow, for fuck’s sake. You need to let your hair down. What were you thinking, going straight to Italy after uni to do evenmorestudying? Don’t you ever want to just put your fucking feet up?’
‘Florence was amazing, thank you for asking,’ I reply with amusement at her outburst as Chas fills a couple of shot glasses and winks at us before going off to serve his next customer.
I love Rach, but we’re very different. She still has no idea what she wants to do as a career, whereas I’ve been forging a path towards sculpture my entire life.
One of my earliest memories is of climbing the giant lions in London’s Trafalgar Square. I had a thing for lions for years afterwards, until I saw the majestic rearing Horses of Helios near Piccadilly Circus and became obsessed with finding other animal statues.
My parents thought the statues were just a phase, akin to liking unicorns or ponies, but my grandmother paid more attention.
I was eight when she first took me to the Barbara Hepworth Museum and Sculpture Garden in her home town of St Ives and I still remember how I ached to touch the chisel marks on the wooden sculptures inside the gallery. Of course I wasn’t allowed, but outside in the garden, Gran let me run wild. I was awestruck by the size of some of the sculptures, by the shapes, the colours and the feel of the different textures beneath my hands.
By secondary school, my interest had begun to lean towards people rather than animals. On a field trip to Paris with my art class, I was almost left behind because I was so caught up in staring at Rodin’sThe Kissin the TuileriesGarden. I was drawn to the tale that it told of two lovers, to the way their bodies twisted towards each other, clutching one another in the throes of passion. I wanted to bring people to life like that, to catch moments in time and tell my own stories. Figurative sculpture became the focus of my work going forward.
I wish my grandmother was alive to see how far I’ve come. My parents came to my degree show, which is the pinnacle of a student’s achievement, and I know they were proud, even if they mostly seemed relieved that my time in Scotland was ending. It pained them that I’d opted to study so far away, though they’ve always been generally supportive of my choices. Theyliterallysupported my month-long stint at the Florence Academy of Art, which is why I need a summer job: I’m keen to pay them back.
That and I need to start saving so I can move to London. I haven’t yet been able to bring myself to tell Mum and Dad that I intend to go away again.
Rach picks up a shot glass and passes it over her shoulder to me with an expectant look on her face.
‘Fine,’ I relent, knocking it back and pulling a face, recovering only to have the second glass offered up.
‘You need to catch up,’ she reminds me, deadly serious.
‘Urgh, what are we, eighteen?’
I’m enveloped by a surreal feeling that time in St Agnes has stood still while I’ve moved on and grown up. But Rach never left and now she’s staring at me expectantly and I don’t want to disappoint her. I throw her shot back too and then bask in the warmth of the alcohol and her applause. At least they’re free; I don’t want to waste money on drinks.
She picks up our pints and backs away from the bar.
It’s hard to see the band with all the people in here, but they’re on a slightly elevated platform. ‘Stage’ is a stretch.
‘What’s this one?’ I shout in Rach’s ear.
‘It’s “7” by Catfish and the Bottlemen.’
‘Do they still only do covers?’
‘Yep.’
Mixamatosis has been knocking around for years. It’s a crap name, and spelling it ‘Mix’ instead of ‘Myx’ hasn’t helped, but the band itself is popular. They’ve always played rock songs from a span of several decades, but new or old, I can rarely put a name to any of them. This summer is the first time they’ve been in residence at Seaglass, which is kind of surprising, considering Dan is Chas’s nephew.
‘What happened to Kieran?’ I ask about their former frontman.
