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We walk out of the gallery and Jack says to me, ‘What did you think? You don’t look impressed.’
I shrug my shoulders. ‘Not bad but not my cup of tea. Those paintings are for tourists. Which is fine, but it’s not what I’d want...’ The words are out before I even have a chance to think about them. ‘Every time I step into a gallery I picture how I would display the art, how I would set everything up.’
Jack smiles. ‘You’ll get there, love. I know it.’
He doesn’t say, that’s foolish or that’s unrealistic, like so many others have reacted to my admission in the past. It’s why I don’t open up about my dreams anymore, why I keep them hidden away like an embarrassing relative or a shameful secret. His words fill me with the confidence to keep talking. ‘It’s a dream, with pretty much no basis in reality. Yet...’ We’d gotten a couple of ice cream cones from an ice-cream van, even though it’s late November, and we both lick our ice creams as we wander about. ‘I’ve thought about it for a long time. I mean, since I left uni I’ve dreamt of setting up my own place to display art. Art that is meaningful and important. I used to visit them all the time when I lived in Oxford. I’d go to London on the weekend and have a look around. I used to think that if I could open my own gallery, that I’d want one just like the ones in Oxford and London.’
‘But you don’t anymore?’ Jack asks.
‘That’s the thing. I still have the dream, only it’s different. I’m different, I suppose. I don’t want to display the pastimes of just anyone. That’s why I’m not drawn to the art we just saw in the art gallery. It’s fluff for tourists. I want it tomeansomething, otherwise what’s the point? And I think that has as much to do with the artist as it does with the actual product itself. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how I can create something that lifts the voices of the artists around here. Well, not around here. You know, artists where we live, in and around Castle Eden. How can I showcase what’s meaningful to my own community?’
‘That sounds extraordinary. A massive undertaking but also a very fulfilling goal to have.’
‘Yes. I try not to let details bog me down,’ I laugh because it’s true, though I’m not sure Jack knows me well enough yet to get my joke. The truth is, I refuse to let details drown my idea. In some ways, I feel more determined now more than ever to see this project through. ‘I’ll figure out a way. I have to.’
‘If anyone can I know you will, Leyna. And if there’s anything I can do to help you...’
I look at him, at the cheeky grin that’s there again. ‘I don’t think I’ll be displaying any pictures ofCinnamon, if that’s what you’re hinting at.’
His laugh is deep and throaty. ‘That’s alright. They’re not for sale, anyways.’
Eventually we find a bench to sit on while we finish our ice creams, watching the people passing by, wandering in and out of shops. Despite the cool air, the bright sun is an unexpected boon and we’re not the only ones taking advantage. It’s probably busier than normal given the time of year but the sunshine draws everyone out of their winter hideouts—nature’s own magnetic pull. We continue licking our ice creams, finishing them in silence. I stare up at the white, puffy clouds rolling past in the sky and the vibrant green rolling mountains in the distance.
‘I’m sorry I have to leave you for a bit. I have a meeting at the restaurant with the manager. Will you be okay to sightsee? I shouldn’t be too long.’
‘That’s alright. I’ll continue with my leisurely stroll around Keswick.’
‘I’m certain there are a few more art galleries we’ve not been to yet.’
‘You read my mind. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Go to your meeting.’
He kisses me briefly and takes off down the winding streets and in the direction of the restaurant we’d been to last night.
Jack is gone a lot longer than I expect and when I finally spot him, brow furrowed, lips pursed and looking as grumpy as a bear with a sore head, I don’t have to ask how the meeting went.
He runs his hand through his hair. ‘That little weasel, Daryl, is fucking lying to me and I don’t know why or what about, but I fuckingknowit in my bones.’
Okayyy... Not a productive meeting then. ‘Let’s get a coffee and sit in the park.’ I don’t wait for him to reply because he looks too agitated and upset to think clearly. I get a couple of coffees and we find a spot to sit.
‘Right. Start at the beginning. Who is Daryl?’ I prompt him.
‘Daryl manages both of the restaurants in the Lake District. He’s done it for years and was doing it before I took over. I stupidly kept him on,’ Jack says angrily. ‘And, I waited an hour before he even turned up today,’ he says through gritted teeth.
‘Are you kidding! Really?’
‘He saunters into the restaurant and I’m already fuming but it’s his attitude, like it’s no big deal to keep someone waiting for an hour when we’d agreed to a set time.’
‘Not just anyone, Jack. His boss. It’s disrespectful.’
‘His boss... Ha!’ Jack snorts in derision. ‘I’ve had more respect from a dog than I got from him today. And when I started asking him questions, he got extremely defensive, saying things like, “You’re never here, you have no idea what it’s like to run a restaurant,” like I didn’t understand,’ Jack exhales.
My eyes widen as I listen to Jack speak.
‘Yeah,’ he confirms. ‘I’ve been in some bad meetings before. Boards of studies, senior management, faculty reviews... I’ve seen a lot of nasty, underhanded, sleazy fights before. But this was just a whole new level of...’ He searched for the right word, ‘Weird.’
‘So, what are you going to do? Fire him?’
Jack looks off into the distance and shakes his head. ‘Not yet. I need more dirt on this guy and if my instincts are right, there’s going to be a huge pile of it.’
