We sit opposite each other, scooping up forkfuls of rice and chatting easily about life, fully absorbed in each other’s company and feeling seriously content to be having a lazy weekend together.
If this is what my thirties is going to look like, I’m pretty sure I’ll enjoy it.
Volunteering
Zach
As the tube creaks and grinds towards my stop, I replay the voice note from Alice through my earbuds. ‘You’ve got this! I’m so proud of you.’ She’s my own personal pep-talk. Being the centre of attention is never going to be my favourite part of the job but as I make my way to the gallery in Whitechapel, I realise I feel much more confident today than I did before my exhibition at the start of the summer. How much of that has to do with Alice and how much is down to me? She’s pushed me and challenged me in ways I’d never expected but I know that a lot it has come from me, too. I feel capable of this, today, in the same way that I feel capable of so much now.
Octavia pulls open the door before I have a chance to knock and hugs me like we’re long-lost siblings, a cloud of her perfume filling the air.
‘Welcome to Goldbury’s, we’re thrilled to have you. Safe journey down from Sheffield?’
‘Thanks Octavia, I really appreciate this.’
I suck in a breath as I look around the gallery. With its polished wooden floors and spotlights suspended from the ceiling, throwing light onto the art on the all-white walls, it feels intimidating. At the back of the long, narrow room is a makeshift stage with a couple of soft chairs centred around a microphone stand. I feel a rush of pride as I see my own art hanging around the stage. Here, in a respected art gallery in London, ismy stuff. It’s exactly what I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid, lying flat on the beach near Nonna’s house, drawing pictures in the sand.
I wasn’t in the best headspace when Octavia got in touch shortly after we met at that ping pong date. Alice had ended things and I was all over the place, but I knew what Octavia was suggesting would be a brilliant boost for my career. I’d said yes, determined to throw myself into focusing on work. Now that I’m actually here, so much has changed. Alice and I are good.Great.And while she’s back in Sheffield working her butt off with Natalie tonight, I’m here in London doing a ‘meet the artist’ event at Octavia’s gallery. Octavia’s currently shouting ‘THINK OF THE AESTHETICS’ at a couple of gallery staff as they set out seats around the stage while her PA, Iris, shows me into the staff kitchen out back.
‘Don’t mind Octavia, she can be a bit …’ Iris raises her eyebrows instead of finishing her sentence, her comforting Mancunian lilt putting me at ease.
I grin. ‘She can a bit, can’t she? How long have you worked here?’
‘Since I graduated two years ago,’ she says, handing me a cup of tea. ‘I studied art at Camberwell and Octavia came along to my year’s grad show, that’s how I got to know her. I would love to be in your position one day, my own art on display in a place like this.’
‘So you work here during the day and paint in your spare time?’
‘Yeah. I’m at the point where I’m panicking, like, will my work ever be good enough or will I end up working a job like this forever?’
‘I can relate. I used to work at a coffee shop and paint in the crap light of my flatshare as soon as I finished work.’
‘Did you really? I’m a bit scared that I’ll never get to where I want to be, you know?’
‘Try not to put yourself under too much pressure? If it helps, I’d be happy to take a look at your work? Maybe help connect you with some other up and coming artists?’
‘Seriously? I’d be honoured.’
‘I know what it’s like to feel nervous about what’s around the corner,’ I say, handing her my card.
Octavia bustles in, grabs a red lipstick from her bag and announces that guests have started to arrive. ‘You’re drinking tea? Iris, there’s champagne on the gallery floor.’
Iris looks panicked and I step in, saying: ‘There’s never a bad time for a brew.’
‘Honestly, you’re just like Dylan. You can take the boy out of Yorkshire …’ Octavia rolls her eyes. ‘How are the nerves?’
‘Surprisingly okay.’
‘Excellent. Let me run you through the plans. I’ll make a liddle introduction first and then you’ll join me on stage and I’ll invite questions from the audience. After the Q&A we’ll move on to a more informal meet and greet, just the usual mingling and chatting. You know the drill. We’ve got fifty guests coming tonight, big names from the art industry, clients here at the gallery and some of your fans. It’s going to be a boon!’
A ‘boon’? Iris and I exchange bemused glances.
‘Are we ready?’
I set my mug of tea down and a bit splashes over the edges onto the kitchen counter. Am I ready? The nerves are there, just waiting to take over, but I remember what Alice said and steady myself with a deep breath.
‘Ready,’ I nod.
The evening is filled with interesting questions which I manage to answer without faltering, thank god. Back at my first exhibition I felt like an imposter, a guy who’d lucked out on making a career out of his passion somehow through chance. Now I see that it was all down to hard work and, even though I know there will still be days when I doubt myself and my talent, Iama success and I should be proud of myself. I’m still buzzing with the energy of the room and, as daunting as it was, there were some funny moments too. During the Q&A one guest asked a completely non-related question about what I like to do in my spare time and we started down an Agatha Christie rabbit hole which Octavia finally managed to steer back towards the art. I found myself not wanting to leave as the final guests said their goodbyes.
