Chapter 4 #2
She gazed up at her three paintings, dashing away a quick tear.
Pride swelled. They were the result of all those snatched Sundays and evenings.
Of putting herself first for once. She’d spent the last twenty odd years putting the needs of the young people she taught, and of Frida, first. It had been a huge act of courage, maybe defiance, to do this.
She was grateful to see the three large canvasses, inspired by the patterns and colours of lavender and Japanese anemone, had been hung with care.
A small photograph of herself (how she and Frida had sweated over creating the exact right image!) with a short biography was placed near the largest.
‘I reckons you got a good chance of being placed, my lovely,’ Dave said, interrupting her reverie. ‘I’m not usually an abstract man but I dig these. Delicate, ethereal, love the way you’ve compressed paper into them to give texture.’
‘Thank you. I make the paper myself. I incorporate flowers from the garden.’
He nodded. ‘I can see. Highly feminine and influenced by natural colours. They’re superb. But commercial too. The sort of thing people want to buy and live with.’
Callie laughed. The relief that her work had arrived in one piece and was displayed so beautifully made her giddy. ‘Wish you were judging.’
He snatched off his beret and scrubbed his hand over his greying head.
‘Me too. I had a hand in guiding the school board committee to choose what we included but that was it. Adya Blanca and a panel of three will make the final decisions. And just as well, girl. Left to the committee we’d have wall to wall Constable landscape rip-offs.
Good to see work in mixed media and I really rate your stuff.
Seen enough? Want to have a look-see at the rest of the place? ’
Callie nodded eagerly. ‘Could I take a few photos first?’
‘No probs. Knock yourself out.’ He gave her a knowing look. ‘Never gets old, does it? Seeing your hard work on a wall for all to set eyes on.’
He waited patiently while she took a few photos on her phone and then escorted her out. Callie gave one lingering glance over her shoulder. The next time she’d be in here would be for the awards presentation. Trying not to get her hopes up, she followed Dave.
He showed her the tutorial rooms, several large art studios, a pottery room complete with kiln – all impressive – and finally the staffroom.
‘Sit yourself down, my lovely,’ he said, throwing his beret onto the large circular table in the middle of the room.
‘I’ll make a brew. Need an excuse to take a break.
Been a hectic morning.’ He pulled a face.
‘Paperwork. Wrangling money out of folk isn’t my strength. ’
Callie pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘Is that how the school is funded?’ She took in her surroundings while Dave bustled about, making tea.
It was a utilitarian space, white-painted, with a small kitchen area along one wall and dominated by an enormous corkboard.
It displayed notices familiar from every staffroom she’d ever been in: a milk buying rota, a reminder to wash up, a pizza takeaway menu. She felt even more at home.
Dave nodded. ‘Grants mostly. One from Dorset Council, smaller one from the town council who are very supportive.’ He shrugged, filling the kettle.
‘But you know what it’s like. Everyone’s strapped for cash, and the first casualty is always the arts.
’ He gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘If only they could see the good it does. My graffiti art classes are always popular, and the pottery evening class has a waiting list.’
‘I met some boys on the way here. Had to ask them for directions. I got a bit lost. They’d not long done the graffiti class. They’d loved it. Wish some of my students were half so enthusiastic.’
‘Well, there you go, see. Kids like that need encouragement. I mean, a painting class isn’t going to change their world but it’s something.’
‘It’s everything. I’m a teacher, don’t forget. I believe in the power of education, otherwise I’d find myself an easier way of making a living.’ She smiled warmly at Dave. He was a nice man with his heart very much in the right place.
He laughed. ‘Ain’t that the truth. We’re not just about education, here, though.
We use the big space for town events, workshops for children which we charge for and the Christmas Craft Fayre.
We’ve just begun to charge sellers per table.
Didn’t want to as it’ll put off some craftspeople, but it’ll be another revenue source.
’ He snorted. ‘Income stream they calls it.’ Reaching into a cupboard for mugs and a packet of digestives, he added, ‘I wanted to spruce up the outside, first impressions and all that, but put security lights in instead. Some of the artists who rent space here have expensive kit, especially my glass guy, Jago.’
He poured boiling water onto teabags and brought them over to the table.
Slumping down, he added gloomily, ‘And, to make matters even more complicated, my fine arts tutor has got herself preggers, which is fine and dandy and I couldn’t be happier for her, but it means she’ll leave at Christmas.
Not coming back. Wants to spend the time with the baby.
You can see her point.’ He dunked the teabags unceremoniously and put them on a saucer. ‘Milk?’
‘Thanks.’
Getting up again, he went to the fridge. ‘Should be a pint in here. Ah!’ Bringing it back he slammed the carton down. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to trot out my woes. Biscuit?’
Callie shook her head. ‘Have you thought of sponsorship?’
‘What, from big business, like?’
‘Yes.’
‘Worth looking into I suppose. Only trouble is, the biggest business round these here parts is tourism. There’s a computer company, mind.
’ He stared into the distance. ‘Could give them a tap. I know the bloke who’s just taken over.
Ambitious type.’ He shook himself. ‘I’m off again.
Rambling.’ Rubbing his eyes, he explained, ‘Knackered. It’s one reason I like your paintings.
Can come out of a stressy email or phone call and go stand in front of them for ten minutes and all is right with the world again. ’
Callie felt tears threaten again. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’
He pushed her mug of tea over. ‘I’m sure that’s not the case. You’re a high school teacher, aren’t you? Don’t you get grateful parents throwing praise at you all the time?’
‘More likely they’re at me to get their precious child’s GCSE grade remarked.’
Dave harrumphed. ‘Can well believe it. Well, if you ever fancy a change of scene and a job in Lullbury Bay. There’ll be a tutor’s position going come January.’ He winked again. ‘Worse places to live.’
‘So I’ve heard but thanks I’m settled in Worcester. Job. House. Friends. That’s where my life is.’
‘Shame.’ He took an enormous gulp of tea. ‘Could do with a talent like you about the place. And there really are worse places to live.’
As Callie made her slow way back to Sea Haven House, breathing in the fresh sea air and dodging happy, suntanned tourists, she thought the same. She could imagine walking along this promenade every day, soaking up the ever-changing moods of sea and sky, making friends with Avril and Tracey.
Had she got it in her to make a move so drastic and life-changing? She doubted it. As she neared the bottom of God Almighty Hill, she paused before tackling it and dismissed the thought as the daydream of another Midland tourist wanting to run away to the seaside.