was time to get a new mobile phone as I was finding it increasingly hard not to listen to the daily messages from Jean. After buying the phone I went back to the Tate and back to Matisse.
The blonde girl from the cafeteria was there again, studying the paintings. She smiled when she saw me. I smiled back and wandered off into the next room before she could ask me for the sofa. She followed swiftly behind me.
‘Excuse me,’ she whispered.
I pretended not to hear her.
‘Excuse me,’ she repeated.
I turned around.
‘You dropped this.’ She handed me my Matisse book.
‘Thank you,’ I said, taking it. ‘I didn’t even hear it drop.’
‘It’s what Matisse does to you. Sometimes you can just be lost in his colours.’
That’s exactly what I had thought. ‘I know what you mean,’ I replied. ‘Is he one of your favourite artists?’ I found myself asking.
She nodded.
‘Mine too,’ I said, wanting her to ask me another question.
But she didn’t ask me anything else, just smiled politely and left.
My feet took me effortlessly around the room as I tried to see the flowers in his paintings. Even in his down-times he painted light, he painted with bold colours. Maybe that’s what he meant when he said ‘Creativity takes courage', that every day he showed up and painted no matter what else was happening in his life.
The cafeteria wasn’t that busy as it was late afternoon. I could see the blonde girl sitting and eating a sandwich and although there were other empty seats I could have sat at, I went up to her and asked if the seat beside her was taken.
‘No,’ she smiled. ‘My name’s Gina by the way.’
‘I’m Nina.’
‘Nina, Gina,’ she laughed. ‘Pleased to meet you, Nina,’ she said, shaking my hand.
‘I liked that quote too,’ I found myself saying out of nowhere, trying to make up for my previous unfriendliness.
‘The one about seeing flowers?’ she asked. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it? It reminds me of my mum.’
‘Is she in Australia?’
‘No, she’s dead.’
I put my own sandwich down. ‘I’m so sorry, I really am, I didn’t mean to –’
‘No, it’s OK, really. That’s why that quote means so much.’
I wanted to ask her if she spoke to her, if her mother responded, if she looked for signs.
Instead, I asked, ‘Are you on holiday?’
‘No, I live here now. I’m an artist. How about you?’
‘I am – was – a lawyer but I’m thinking about painting again.’
‘Well, if you need a studio, I know of one going. Or if you know of anyone who needs one, let me know. I’m desperate to find someone who’ll take mine for three months so I can go back to Australia.’
She said she wanted to surprise her family and escape the winter months but hadn’t managed to find anyone who was interested in subletting her studio despite placing several ads. We talked some more, mainly about Matisse, and I took her number just in case I came across anyone who needed a studio.
Later, I sat in Green Park trying to convince myself that it was not meant for me.
‘Ki, Matisse talks about seeing flowers when there are none. I want to see them. Even if you’re not there and you’re not listening it doesn’t matter. I want to believe you are. Sorry about what I said to you the other day. There’s a studio that has become free. Do you think it’s meant for me?’
Silence.
‘That’s what I thought too. What if I just tried it out for three months tops? Haven’t really got anything else to lose.’
I began to feel almost excited when I thought about the possibility of having my own studio and being able to paint. The only problem with having a studio was that the level of deceit would escalate even further. I had never intended to lie so blatantly to my parents. I didn’t want to, the days I was going to the Tate were just to get my head straight. Perhaps I would try broaching the subject of renting a studio with my dad. I would say that the firm had given me a three-month sabbatical so I could understand the work of my artists better. It wasn’t that far from the truth, really.
My dad was upstairs in the spare room, fiddling with one of the many television sets he had, when I arrived home.
‘Can sell this one for fifty pounds. Newsagent wants it for tomorrow.’
‘Right. That’s great.’ I thought the best way of bringing up the studio subject was by telling him what Matisse said and then at least I could start talking about painting and lead on from there. ‘Dad, what do you think of this quote?’
‘What?’ he shouted.
I had to rephrase the sentence. ‘An artist who is worth a lot of money said that there are always flowers for those who want to see them. What do you think about that?’
‘He’s your client?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Very good quote.’
‘Really, do you think so?’
‘Yes, that is why he is the rich. Wastes no money buying the expensive flowers from the petrol shops and saves the money that the flowers are taking. Not giving the peoples the flowers every time he is seeing them.’
I wanted to bury my head in my hands in despair. He would never understand. Even if I sat down with him and explained in great detail why it was so important to me, he just wouldn’t get it.
‘Thought about what you are going to wear to see Raj?’ my mother asked later at dinner.
‘No, I have had other things on my mind.’
She made some suggestions that I pretended to listen to. The only way I could possibly escape it all was to paint. My decision was made.
The next morning I phoned Gina to tell her that I was interested in looking at her studio. She told me to come by whenever I could that day.
It was located at the back of London Bridge, in an alley with cobbled stones that led nowhere in particular. The sign read ‘Forget the dog, just beware if you disturb the artist at work'. I knocked on the door and Gina pulled it open.
‘Good to see you again, Nina. Well, this is it.’
The studio was a converted garage, bright and airy as it had a skylight. There was an enormous table in the
