‘Hair of the dog?’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘Why not?’
‘I’d better run this back to your place first,’ he says of the rake.
I take it from him. ‘I’ll prop it up round the side of the building.’
He’s leaning against the bar, looking towards the door, when I walk inside.
‘What are you having?’ he asks me.
‘Um … tea, please,’ I decide, telling it straight to the girl behind the bar.
‘After all that bravado,’ he teases me gently, ordering himself a bitter shandy.
We sit at a table by the cast-iron fireplace. It might be June, but it’s a cold morning and I’m glad of the warmth as I rub my hands together and hold them up to the flames. Tom looks all around at the objects fixed to the rough stone walls and dark wooden ceiling beams: old-fashioned lanterns, guns and swords, ship wheels and brass tide clocks.
‘Does this place have rooms?’ he asks me.
‘Yes, it’s a B&B. Why, you thinking of moving?’ I joke.
‘I’m thinking ofstaying,’ he replies meaningfully.
‘In Aggie?’ My heart jolts.
He nods. ‘Another two and a half weeks doesn’t seem nearly long enough. Is your place booked out for the rest of the summer?’
‘Afraid so,’ I tell him with regret.
‘And the other places you manage?’
‘They’re all fully booked. You should ask at the bar, though. You might be lucky.’ I can’t suppress my grin. ‘I’m so pleased you want to stay.’
He seems heartened as he reaches for his pint. ‘Ireallylove it here.’
‘Once I couldn’t wait to escape, but now I can’t imagine leaving.’
‘Where did you want to escape to?’
I tell him about my plans to move to London, and how I’d hoped to return to Italy someday.
‘And you don’t want to do that any more?’
‘I’m still keen to do a residency someday, or take part in a sculpture symposium, but I wouldn’t want to be abroad for any length of time.’
‘What’s a sculpture symposium?’
‘It’s when a group of sculptors are invited to come together to create public art with a central theme. They take place in different countries all over the world.’
‘I’d love to see some of your work.’
‘Most of it is commissions, so I don’t get to keep it, but my latest is public art,’ I say with a twinge of pride. ‘It’s still at the foundry, having the finishing touches put to it. I have to go check on it tomorrow.’
‘Where’s the foundry?’
‘Near St Ives. You’re welcome to come if you fancy a day trip,’ I say before I can overthink it.
I haven’t even extended an invitation to Michael or my friends. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever willingly shared an unfinished piece with anyone since my student days. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me feel able to lay myself bare.
