Chapter 14 Lily
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LILY
Sebastian insisted I borrow a hoodie, and I was glad because the early-morning air held a chill that announced the start of the autumn.
At this time of the morning, there were a few stragglers hanging around.
At three, when the nightclubs closed, there would be a spill of noisy, drunk people.
Considering there were a few nightclubs on our path home, I wanted to get by them before they shut.
Sebastian with his long strides easily kept up with my quick ones.
“I like her a lot,” I confessed as we cut through Upper Bow onto Victoria Street. “Juno.”
“Yes, she’s wonderful when she isn’t talking about her sex life in front of me.”
Chuckling, I nodded. “She really is like Jan. We need to introduce them.”
“I’m afraid of the chaos that would occur if we did.”
At the sight of two drunk lads wobbling their way uphill toward us, Sebastian protectively put his arm around me to draw me into his side. The hard heat of his body stole my breath again. Just like it had at the bar.
I really needed to get over this unrequited crush. Pronto.
After we passed the drunks, he released me and I tried not to let out a whoosh of breath. Distraction would help. I hesitated a second before daring to broach the subject. “How … How is Juno coping with your parents’ separation?”
He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, unconsciously hunching his shoulders inward as he replied quietly, “She likes to come off tough and irritated to cover the fact that she’s sad and angry. And confused. We’re both just really confused.”
“I’m sorry.” I squeezed his arm in comfort, then quickly moved on because I didn’t want to make him melancholy. “I’d love to see Juno’s pottery.”
“Oh. Here.” Sebastian pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a couple of times, and handed it to me. “Her socials.”
I scrolled through her feed only to discover she not only made beautiful vases and dinnerware, but she also sculpted art pieces. At the top of her profile, it said she had over sixteen thousand followers.
“She’s incredibly talented.” I handed his phone back to him as we strode down the cobbled road of the Grassmarket. A girl in a tiny minidress stood screaming in another girl’s face while a guy sat on his haunches nearby with his head in his hands.
Sebastian and I shared a wince at the drama before he continued about Juno’s art. “Yeah. She started doing those time-lapse videos on her pottery last week and her followers shot up. That’s probably why the gallery has reached out with interest. Power of social media.”
“You sound like my cousin Beth.”
“The one who runs the social media management company?”
“Aye. She’s actually helped me make some contacts with a few influencers I want to interview for my dissertation.”
“What’s your dissertation subject?”
“The impact of social media on self-esteem across genders.”
Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. “Heavy stuff.”
“My choice of career is heavy stuff.”
He seemed to ponder that. “How will you cope? How will you compartmentalize all the awful stories you’re going to hear day in and day out?”
“I hope I cope well, but I won’t know until I do the job.
” I was pragmatic about the reality of being a psychotherapist. “I know that I want to do something meaningful with my life. And while social media is something you and I were raised with, our parents’ generation wasn’t, and I’ve read all these articles on how far-reaching its impact is.
Mental health issues are on the rise. I want to know what part social media is playing in that.
Not merely online bullying but what else is it about social media that triggers negative feelings.
Is it the platforms themselves deliberately fudging the algorithm to show their users content they know will trigger a negative response because we tend to engage more when we’re angry or upset about something?
Is it the universal fantasy content? And since it’s well documented that men find it harder to talk about their mental health, is the impact on self-esteem different across genders? ”
Sebastian was silent at my side, and my cheeks heated.
“Sorry. I can get a bit carried away by the subject.”
“No, no. I’m just thinking, I’m a little in awe of you, to be honest. I’ve never really considered any of that stuff. I just post … now and then …” He drifted off.
“What is it? Aren’t you content with your degree? What made you decide to be a civil engineer?”
He shrugged. “I’ve always been good at maths and physics. And I like building things. Working out how to engineer a structure. My dad and I built a few of the structures on our estate back in Norfolk. A couple of sheds, chicken coops.” He grinned. “And even a summer house.”
“Well, I’m in awe of you,” I told him honestly. “My brain does not work like that. I was useless at physics.”
“I have a secret,” Sebastian suddenly blurted out as we crossed the main street and took a shortcut through the cobbled lane I wouldn’t have dreamed of taking alone at night.
I raised an eyebrow at his boyish outburst. “What kind of secret?”
He rubbed his nape, huffing in bemusement. “I don’t know what it is about you …”
“Okay …?”
“Only Juno knows. I lie quite easily to everyone else about this.” He stopped in the middle of the lane. “But I trust you, and I don’t quite understand it.”
“It’s because I’m trustworthy.” I pointed to my dimples as I grinned. “These are the dimples of a truly trustworthy person.”
Sebastian chuckled, his eyes twinkling warmly. Whatever this lie was, I didn’t believe for a second it was harmful.
Because … despite our inauspicious start … I trusted him too.
He started walking again but tapped on his phone screen. “It’s easier to show you.”
I took the phone, brimming over with curiosity. When I tripped on a cobble, Sebastian took my arm, guiding me so I could keep looking at the screen.
Once more, it was a social media account.
I scrolled through the feed of beautiful time-lapse videos.
I stood there for what could have been minutes watching a man whose face never turned to the camera, create impressionist paintings using a mix of techniques from splattering the paint on canvas and then finessing the details with palette knives and brushes.
What started out as an abstract mess turned into extraordinary works of art by the end.
There were lots of scenes from Edinburgh’s cityscape but also places I didn’t recognize.
A quick scroll to the top of the account showed it had fifty-seven thousand followers.
There was a link in the bio to a website.
A quick click on it showed me it sold originals and prints.
I recognized the back of the man doing all the painting.
Understanding, I gaped at Sebastian, suddenly seeing him in a new light. “You’re an artist too.”
His lips curved upward. “Yes. A secret one.”
“And a phenomenal one.” I glanced back down at the phone, clicking on a painting of a lamppost in St. Mary’s Close in the snow. The way the light caught the snowflakes was eerie and beautiful. “Thorne, these are stunning.”
“Thank you.” His voice sounded extra gruff. “I’m glad you think so.”
“But how do you pull this off without anyone knowing?”
“I rent a tiny studio not far from your place. It’s actually a one-bedroom flat with a massive bay window in the living room that lets in a ton of light.
I use an online printer for the prints, but I pack all those up myself and post them out.
It can be time-consuming if one of my images or Reels takes off, since I then get a surge of purchases.
The originals have been selling well too.
I have a company do the professional packing and shipping for those.
The prints are the most time-consuming part.
Last night I got fifty orders. I need to go to the flat tomorrow morning and start packaging them up. ”
“I’ll help,” I offered without thinking, more than curious to see this studio of his.
“Lily, you have your own stuff to do. I can manage.”
“Let me help.”
Sebastian began walking again. “You really want to?”
“I really want to. Did you know my dad is a professional photographer?”
His eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”
“He does private events mostly, but he’s started something similar to what you’re doing on socials. I’ve helped him curate wedding albums.”
“Wow. I’d love to see his work.”
“I’ll show you sometime. So? Can I help tomorrow?”
“Of course you can help.”
I asked him what his plans were for his art in the future, and Sebastian shrugged as we approached my flat. “No plans, really. It’s a passion project. I’ll forge ahead with my degree.”
His words rang false to me. Almost like he was lying to himself. “Juno is making money from her pottery. Why shouldn’t you continue to make money from your art? You should do it if it would make you happy.”
“Being a painter is not the practical choice. Juno loves the struggling artist shtick because we have a trust fund, so it’s not exactly struggling. But I want the trust fund to be a backup. I don’t want to be living off it.” He grimaced. “Tell me if I sound like a privileged arsehole.”
I let us into the building, lowering my voice to a whisper so as not to wake my neighbors.
“You are privileged, but you don’t sound like a privileged arsehole.
A privileged arsehole wouldn’t ask if he sounded like a privileged arsehole.
You have to do what feels right to you. But if you’re in the position to do what makes you happy, I would.
If you ever want to talk to my dad about turning it into a business, I’m happy to arrange that. ”
“I won’t,” he said, uncharacteristically abrupt. Then he softened. “Thanks, though.”
So busy mulling over his weird attitude about his art, it wasn’t until we’d reached my flat that I realized we hadn’t said goodbye.
As if he’d read my mind, Sebastian smirked. “Let me see your flat. You saw mine.”