Page 22 of Matilda’s Summer of New Beginnings

‘Did you enjoy the gallery visit this afternoon?’ Rosie asked, quite innocently, through a mouthful of wontons.

I knew she wasn’t really being innocent. Her eyes were too wide, her smile too fake and her voice too upbeat and casual.

‘Yes. Mm-hmm. Yes, I did. I did.’ I nodded, probably a little too enthusiastically, as I chased a frond of crispy seaweed around my plate with chopsticks. It was getting a bit close to the hoisin sauce and I hated soggy seaweed, so it took a lot of concentration.

‘What was the name of the place again? Julio’s?’ pressed Rosie. Blink, blink, smile, smile.

‘Yes. Julio’s.’ I cast a glance at Damien, who was rolling up a very messy duck pancake. You’d think for a guy who’d smoked roll-ups to look cool in his first semester at university, he could make a better job of it.

‘Oh I’ve heard of that place!’ he said, squishing the end of his pancake and aiming it towards his mouth. He took a big bite, chewed and swallowed, then smiled at me. ‘Really exclusive. Like really, really exclusive. You have to be pretty lucky to get in there. I’ve heard that the best way to do it is to know someone — well, know someone in-the-know. If you know what I mean. You know?’

Rosie snorted a laugh and her lemonade spluttered across her wontons, but it didn’t stop her eating them.

I rolled my eyes heavenwards. ‘Very droll, Damien.’

He looked at me uncomprehendingly, then realized what he’d said. He grinned. ‘It’s true though.’ Then his face dropped a little and he looked rather sad. ‘I didn’t even chance my luck in there. I mean, I know Machismo aren’t great. But at least I can say I managed it.’ He glanced at me. ‘I am sorry. Really.’

‘You didn’t seem that sorry when you told me,’ I said.

Damien shrugged. ‘I’m still happy I got in. You can’t blame me for that, can you?’

I shook my head. ‘No. I can’t.’

‘There were some interesting pictures in Julio’s,’ chipped in Jay. ‘What were they again, Tilds?’

‘Ice creams,’ I replied with a straight face. ‘Really realistic ice creams.’

‘Ooh!’ said Damien, halfway through fighting with the next pancake. ‘I fancy some of that for dessert. The whippy stuff. You know? My favourite!’

Poor Damien didn’t know why Jay and I caught one another’s eyes and started sniggering, but I wasn’t about to enlighten him during a meal.

However, we had managed to move away from the sticky subject of Julio’s, and I was thankful to Jay for deflecting the conversation. Pudding was much more interesting.

I didn’t really know why I was so edgy about telling my friends how I’d felt when I’d walked out of the gallery. It should have been something we could have had a laugh about, and an “oh well, better luck with a different place” sort of conversation. But I was a little uncomfortable, and a little embarrassed. I wasn’t sure, to be honest, if that was what I wanted to aim for any more. The thought had been lingering in my mind all afternoon.

I cast a glance at Jay who was laughing at something Rosie had said. I knew that if I did by any chance return to Julio’s with my portfolio and tell the owner, ‘Hey, Edie sent me! Whaddya think of these, Jools?’ he’d give me that wall space, and obviously I’d be braying about it like a donkey on caffeine. But I’d never be sure if I had got there by my talents, or because Edie had pulled strings. It was hard to rationalize it, but I somehow knew Jay would understand. Didn’t he do what he loved, away from all that commercial turmoil?

He taught kids to sing. He taught people music. He’d even helped prepare a concert for a group of deaf children and learnt the sign language for ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’. And none of it had been high-level, high-powered or all over the social columns of Darling! magazine. Up to now anyway. If Rosie had her way with Padcock’s Got Talent, it could well be. And then what if he got talent-spotted? What if someone whisked him away to New York or somewhere to give him the recording contract Rosie had always wanted for him, so he became a famous singer?

I very much doubted he would go.

And deep down, I knew Damien’s work was very well suited to Julio’s. I knew Edie and Ninian, and Edie’s grandfather Howard Bastion had done that sixties exhibition there a while ago, but after today, I suspected that was very different to what Julio normally hosted.

My thoughts were diverted when Rosie let out an excited little squeal, and I realized she and Damien were having some sort of chopsticks battle to secure the largest prawn in the curry now in front of us. It was time for our main courses.

‘Jay,’ I said suddenly, while Rosie and Damien were distracted, acting like kids in the school canteen. ‘Am I being stupid?’ I spoke quietly.

‘How do you mean?’ Jay looked at me, puzzled.

‘Well — running out of that gallery and thinking it’s not for me?’

‘Why wouldn’t it be for you? It would be a bit of wall space to display your pictures.’

‘Yes. But I kind of feel if Edie used her influence, I wouldn’t actually have earned that wall space . . . Or, perhaps, it’s because I don’t . . .’ My voice trailed away as I poked at the slice of lemon in my drink with the cocktail stick.

‘You don’t what?’ He wasn’t pressing or intrusive, just curious. I found myself admitting something that had been at the back of my mind for a little while, but I was only now starting to understand.

‘I don’t think I want to stay in London much longer. And if I get a foothold in here, a name for myself — I’m kind of committed, aren’t I?’ I sighed. ‘I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m scared. I’m scared in case I do actually make it. I’m scared of being successful. And if great things happened through Edie’s influence, I’d be forever wondering if I’d done the right thing.’