Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I can’t believe we’ve come this far for a painting,’ I said. ‘What is it with this bloke, anyway? And how can you afford it?’
‘It’s for our parents, and we’ve all chipped in. It’s something they’ve wanted for ages and not many couples get to their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary without killing each other.’
Martin, my friend, grinned at me. He’d been smoking and his breath smelt like potato peelings but at least I’d got an afternoon off.
Martin and I worked at the local biscuit factory. It was a bugger of a job for low pay and awful conditions and we both hated it. Today we were on late shifts, so I’d offered to ride from Derby to Mapleton, to keep him company.
Martin and I weren’t an item. We were just really good friends.
Besides, he was dating Mandy Pilkington and I loved teasing her.
She hated that he wanted to spend time with me; she got so jealous it was laughable.
So once I found out she didn’t want to go and see some ‘crappy pictures’, I jumped at the chance. My life was so exciting – not.
We drove there in Martin’s Mini, small and compact and falling apart. I was surprised it got us there and back to be honest. It was a death trap, a tin can on wheels. But it was Martin’s pride and joy. He loved all things retro – and the Mini was definitely older than us.
The air in the car was hotter than it was outside. I wound down the window and thrust my hand out, waving it about in the breeze.
‘So who is he, the artist?’ I over-pronounced the word artist to prove I didn’t believe he would be good.
‘He’s called Richard Sykes-Morgan. I doubt you’ll have heard of him.’
‘Sounds like a ponce to me.’
‘He’s really good. I scoured the internet for someone who would draw a bespoke piece. Richard came highly recommended and when I saw some of the pieces he’s created, I knew my mum would fall in love with one in particular.’
‘What of?’
‘Wait and see.’
Twenty minutes later, almost at the top of a hill, we turned into a gateway and pulled up in front of a stone farmhouse, with a large garden and what looked like a forest behind it. I reckoned the house must date back a fair few years.
‘Wow.’ Martin whistled. ‘Some property.’
‘Indeed. He must be doing well for himself.’
A man came striding towards us as we got out of the car. I stretched my back after sitting cramped for so long and then raised a hand to my eyes to shield them from the sun.
‘Hi, I’m Richard.’ He offered his hand to Martin, then did the same to me. ‘Right then, let me show you what I have.’
I let the men walk slightly in front of me as I studied Richard’s physique. He was built like a rugby player, most probably in his late thirties. I fell in love with him there and then.
Close up, he wasn’t much taller than me and his face was gorgeous.
He had these twinkling eyes and a cheeky grin that made him look younger than he was.
I found out later that he was nearly forty to my twenty.
I had no idea at the time of his previous relationships either.
Well, you don’t, do you? You just take at face value everything someone says to you.
He led us into a studio that was almost as large as the factory unit I was working in. He beckoned us over to a canvas covered in a white cloth, removing it with a ‘ta-da’ which made me giggle.
‘What do you think?’ His eyes were as wide as a child’s waiting for approval from a parent.
I must admit to gasping when I looked. It was an image of a young girl on the rocks by the sea.
Beside her, a teenage boy was showing her a starfish.
The image was simple but extremely emotive as they gazed at each other with wonder in their eyes.
I had to admit, for a wedding anniversary present it was perfect.
‘This is incredible.’ Martin’s eyes were as wide as Richard’s. ‘Mum will love it.’ He reached for a wad of notes from his pocket and counted it out on the workbench. Richard’s eyes were on me and I blushed at his stare. I smiled shyly and he returned it.
When Martin got to five hundred pounds, I could barely disguise my astonishment.
I had no idea paintings would go for that much.
I lived in a council house on a rough estate.
My dad did a runner when I was little and there was only me and my sister left with my mum.
So five hundred pounds was so much money.
‘Leave it at that,’ Richard said, still looking my way.
‘You said five fifty on the phone.’
‘It’s fine.’
Martin beamed and handed him the money. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ I said, arms folded at Martin’s stupidity.
Both men looked at me, waiting to be enlightened.
‘That’s never going to fit in the Mini.’
‘Sure it will,’ Martin said, although looking doubtful.
‘If it won’t, I’ll deliver it,’ Richard said. ‘It’s for a special occasion. It’s no problem. Here, take my contact details regardless.’ He handed me a business card. I looked at it.
Richard Sykes-Morgan. Artist.
I could feel him staring at me again and I looked up. Somehow in that moment, I knew he would ask me out. We had a connection, something I couldn’t explain.
True to my thoughts, the Mini was not the transport vehicle Martin should have chosen. But there had been no one else available to take him, nor loan him a van. We said our goodbyes and came away with our money. Richard refused to take it from Martin until the painting was with him.
‘Nice bloke,’ Martin said as we trundled down the dirt track again.
‘Hmm.’
‘He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. It’s a pity he lives so far away. Pretty nice place he has there, don’t you think?’
He nudged me and then winked. I laughed and said nothing. But it was exactly what I was thinking. Imagine me living in something like that.
‘But what would I do in the middle of nowhere?’
‘I’m sure you can think of something.’
I slapped his arm playfully. But all the way back to Derby I thought about Richard, and his smile, his eyes and his rugby player body. And figured out how I could orchestrate being there when he delivered the painting.