‘Yeah, the same look you used to have every time Sarah wafted past in a cloud of superiority.’ She finishes the apple, and throws the core into the tub under the stall.
‘I don’t have a look,’ I reply, folding my arms.
‘Yes, you do.’ She unwraps a stick of Wrigley’s, offers me one, which I decline with a shake of my head. Kate pops it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. ‘You always go for the ones that have one foot out of the door, eyes on some prize off in the distance.’
‘That’s not what this is.’
‘So what is it?’
‘Don’t you ever want more?’ I look down at my hands, rubbing my thumb along the callus on my middle finger.
‘More?’
‘More from life other than working every day, getting married and settling down.’
‘Such as?’
I think about my folder filled with earlier drawings and paintings of the raw untarnished Yorkshire landscape most folk think of, and places I’ve never visited inspired by the travel books section in the library. ‘Travel? Do a job you love rather than one that’s going to pay bills.’
She frowns. ‘Look, I know this isn’t glamorous,’ she begins a little defensively, ‘and I’m not going to be a millionaire, but there’s a lot to be said about an honest day’s work. I love my job. I can’t imagine doing anything else.’
‘I know, that’s not what I meant… I just?—’
‘And what’s wrong with getting married and settling down here? There’s worse places.’
‘I’m not saying that, it’s just… something feels like it’s missing. In here.’ I tap my chest. ‘You know?’
Her voice softens. ‘Sarah really did you over, didn’t she? Look, you’re still recovering. This time last year, you were happy. It’s only fish face leaving that’s stirred up all this guff.’
A small smile tugs at me. ‘How long have you been calling her fish face?’
‘Since you first met. It was the lips. Always had a pout on, that one.’ She puckers her lips and I laugh, despite the pull of unease. I always thought Kate liked Sarah. ‘You’ll be alright. Have you thought any more about applying to St Martins?’
I think of the application Kate had given me, hidden in my top drawer beneath my boxers. But every time I tried to put together a portfolio for the application, it was just shite. Each attempt worse than the last.
‘Nah. I’m not good enough.’
‘That’s bull. You’re brilliant, Mike.’
‘Not London Art School standard. And I’m too old. I’m starting that new job and God only knows I need to bring some money in soon. I’ve got to get my own place. Carl’s driving me mad.’
‘You’ve just got a lot on your plate, but don’t dismiss the art course. Lots of people study later in life.’
‘Christ, that makes us sound ancient.’
‘We’re not getting any younger, that’s for sure. I’m getting wrinkles.’ She fans out her hands, plucking at the skin beneath her knuckles. ‘Look! I’ve hands like an Egyptian mummy.’
We take a beat; the sun is starting to gather some heat. I scratch behind my ear. ‘So you don’t think I should write to her?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe ask yourself what you want from it?’
‘Well, a reply would be a good start.’
‘Aye, but what then?’
Our attention is pulled towards Danny. He’s a six-foot bear of a man.
‘Here she is!’ Danny swaggers towards us with a grin. Kate beams, stands and is brought quickly to his soft, meaty chest. ‘And how are you, my gorgeous girl?’
