Chapter 10 One Fine Day #2
“Lots of people were.” He took a sip of his tea, his little finger outstretched. “But now, most people find the Pre-Raphaelites a little old-fashioned. Funny how time changes the way a thing is considered. Something once shocking becomes normal–even boring–decades later.”
“How do you know so much about this stuff?”
“I did an art history degree at the University of Brighton.”
“You never did!” My surprise made me a lot louder than I’d meant to be, and about six old ladies shushed me. Even though he knew so much about it, it never occurred to me that he’d gone to university. Now I felt really stupid.
“I did.” He took a sip of his tea and looked very serious. “The grammar school forced as many of us as possible to apply. I did, and I got in. I didn’t want to go, but my Aunt Agnes was so proud of me and I couldn’t bring myself to let her down.”
“Aunt Agnes?”
“She raised me. She was my great aunt, actually. My parents died when I was very young, and she was my only living relative. I was lucky she took me in, or I would have ended up in a Boys’ Home. She was a kind woman, though she had no idea what to do with a child.”
“She didn’t have any of her own?”
He shook his head. “She was part of the lost generation. Her fiancee was killed in Flanders. Hers and half the town’s. I don’t think she ever got over losing him. His photograph sat on the mantle piece until the day I packed it up after she died.”
He stared into his tea, and I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. Everyone I knew had a story like that; an old aunt, or friend of the family whose sweetheart died in the Great War. Some of them found another man to marry. A lot of them didn’t.
“Have you finished your tea?” Michael asked.
“Yes. More art then?”
Michael snorted, I must have sounded as enthusiastic as I felt.
“Yes, but we’re going to see something a bit different. I think you’ll like the next few rooms."
“Alright, lead on.” I wasn’t convinced.
We left the quaint tea room, and Michael took us back down into the main part of the building.
Right away, I could tell this gallery was different.
The walls were plain white and the ceilings were a normal height.
As we got closer, the contrast with the old-fashioned portraits and landscapes became obvious.
A lot of the canvases attached to the walls didn’t have frames and the pictures weren’t always identifiable as people, or figures at all.
Vibrant streaks of colour crashed into each other, slashed with thick dark lines.
Where there were portraits, they were not realistic or pretty, instead using blocks of colours and sharp corners.
Abstract. I’d heard that term to describe modern art, often in a tone of disgust.
I liked these rooms, their loud paintings with unidentifiable subjects spoke to me more than any of the beautiful Greek Goddesses had. I liked that I didn’t know what the artist had painted, that I had to find meaning in the kaleidoscope of colour and texture.
Maybe I could enjoy art, after all.
Two young men approached the piece I was looking at and began discussing it. They spoke with confidence and in-depth knowledge, throwing around words like “futurism” and “post-realism” and “cubism.”
Trying to ignore them, I moved onto the next piece, but they followed and continued their loud discussion. I understood only every other word and felt like a toddler trying to read Shakespeare–or me trying to read Shakespeare.
Disheartened, I turned to Michael. “Can we go? I’m tired.” I sounded like a whiny child and I felt like one too.
Michael guided us out onto the street, and I filled my lungs with air, glad to be out of the stuffy building. Before he could suggest going for a drink or anything, I made my excuses. Ordinarily I’d have loved to spend more time with him, but I was exhausted and feeling sorry for myself.
“Alright, I better be off.” I looked at my watch. “It’ll take me ages to get home.”
“Oh, alright then.” His face fell, and I almost went back on what I’d said. I really did need to get back though.
“Before you go, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” he said. “Do you know the Ilford Palais? It’s not far from where you live.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen a few concerts there.”
“I might go to a gig there next week, a band called The Adders are playing.”
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“Me neither, but my friend said they’re going to be the next Small Faces.”
“Them and every other band in London,” I scoffed.
“True. Do you want to go and see them? With me? In case this lot is the real deal? Then you’ll be able to say you were there at the beginning.” He beamed at me.
“Sounds great. I’ll see if Tommy and Eric have anything on that night–they love a live gig.”
Michael’s smile faltered for a second. “Yes, of course,” he said.
“The rest of the gang will want to know about this. We haven’t all been out together for ages. It’ll be a top night if everyone can come.” Frank loved a gig; so did the rest of the gang.
“Oh. Well if you’re going with all your friends, I might not bother. You don’t want an old fart like me hanging around.” He was still smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“We’ve talked about this before, you’re not old!”
“Yes, dear, I am. But don’t worry, you have a good time.” He looked sad. What had I said to upset him?
“No, don’t do that. It was your idea, I’m not gonna let you sit in your flat on your own. That’s daft. My mates are good people. They’ll all love you. And you already know Tommy and Eric.”
“Hardly.”
“You know them well enough. Stop being a silly sod. Please come. I love spending time with you.”
Looking up at me, his eyes were wide but then his smile came back and I was chuffed.
“Alright. I’ll find someone to come with me anyway. Someone my age, so I don’t cramp your style.”
“Will you stop that? You’re the coolest bloke I know, and my mates will all agree.”
“Won’t they think it’s strange for me to tag along? How will you say you know me?”
“I’ll tell them the truth.”
Michael’s mouth opened in shock.
“They all know about me. And Tommy and Eric. I’ll tell them you’re our friend, and you’re one of us–a mod, not a poof–so that’s why you’re coming.Which is the truth.”
“Oh. Well, alright then.”
I smiled widely. My friends were going to love Michael. How could anyone not love him?