Page 152 of Off the Pitch

I really needed to learn how to say no.

“Very nice,” Hélène said. She stood and carefully examined each one. “Did you paint all of these in Scotland?”

“Mostly,” I said. “Those two are ones I’ve been trying to finish here.”

“Tell me a little more about this one. I’m intrigued by the composition.” Hélène gestured to one leaning against the coffee table. It was the one I’d painted the afternoon we’d gotten rained on, when I’d had to make a mad dash to the car while Hugo packed up, and then the heavens had opened on us. I smiled at the memory of that afternoon and started rambling about the way the changing cloudscape had affected the light, and the fact that I’d been in love with the deep purple of the heather and the rich greens of the hills and the way the sunlight hit the water so perfectly that it looked like a mirror.

Hélène listened to me politely, and then asked a few more questions about the other canvases, nodding quietly while I attempted not to make an ass of myself. The entire experience was completely surreal, and I had no idea why she’d wanted to talk to me. The Daaé Gallery was one of those small, select galleries that tended to showcase artists at the top of their game, the sort whose work tended to go for hundreds of thousands of pounds. They’d done exhibitions and showcases for new artists a couple of times, but nobody I knew had ever gotten in, and the events were so rare you practically had to sell your soul to be able to even get an acknowledgement.

But not only did Hélène work there, she ran the place. She wastheperson you had to impress, and here she was talking to me. It was funny the way the world worked, one moment your boyfriend’s ex-wife was here accidentally causing you to have a major meltdown, and the next moment she was here talking to you about your artwork because she’d happened to see one of your pieces while she was here, causing the aforementioned meltdown.

I wondered why Hugo had never mentioned that she ran a gallery, after all he’d probably been there several times. Then again, perhaps it hadn’t even crossed his mind. Hélène was part of his past, and I knew he was trying to move forward.

He was watching me now with a vaguely stunned expression on his face, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. I wanted to tell him that I had no idea what was going on either.

“What other work do you do?” Hélène asked, when she’d finally finished grilling me on the Scottish pieces.

“Um, digital work mostly. Book covers and artwork for board games, usually for the cards and rulebooks. The fans seem to really like it.”

“And outside of that?”

“A little bit of painting, most of it’s paint and charcoal like these, although they have tended to be on the more abstract side I guess.” I decided it was best not to mention my more personal commissions. After all, they were done under a pseudonym, and I wasn’t quite sure how to tell Hélène that I did furry artwork. Sure, a lot of it was very tasteful, but some of it was less so, and I’d always offered my clients a lot of privacy.

“Do you have any examples?”

“Not here,” I said. “There are a few at my house, some are finished, and some aren’t. I did a new artist exhibition in Soho last October and some of them are left over from that. I think I’ve still got a digital copy of the catalogue if you want to see.”

“That would be great. I’ll leave you my email, and you can send it over.” She gave me a warm smile. “I have to admit though, I’m less interested in those than I am in these,” she said, nodding at my Scottish work. “Do you think you could do a few more?”

“I suppose,” I said, completely baffled. There was something here I hadn’t caught on to, but I just couldn’t work out what it was. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to offer you an exhibition slot at the gallery.”

It took a moment or two for Hélène’s words to land and another moment or two for me to process them. It was almost like the entire thing was happening in slow motion, and I had to replay her words over and over in my head because this couldn’t be real. It had to be some sort of elaborate practical joke or form of revenge.

“I’m sorry,” I said, defaulting to the standard British response of polite disbelief. “Could you say that again, please?”

Hélène smiled. “I’d like to offer you an exhibition slot at the gallery. We’ve had a last-minute space come up due to some scheduling changes, and I’d like to offer it to you. I’ve been looking for someone new to showcase, and I think you have talent, and your work fits in well with our Autumn programme.”

“Are-are you sure?” I asked, my head still spinning.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise. I’ll drop all the details over in an email, but the exhibition is at the end of September and runs for three weeks. There will be a launch event with a drinks reception, and I’ll be looking for up to twelve pieces to display. Ideally, I’d like all of them to be available for sale as well. I’ll put a contract with terms in the email, and if you have any questions then, just ask.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I felt tears prickling at my eyes, making the world go slightly fuzzy. I was still convinced this wasn’t real because things like this didn’t happen in real life. I looked across the room to find Hugo because I didn’t think I could do this without him.

“Say yes,” Hugo said. “You deserve to have people know how talented you are.”

“Okay then,” I said. “I’d love to. Thank you so much for the opportunity.”

“My pleasure,” said Hélène. “Now, I’ll leave you my business card and if you can just give me your contact details, I’ll leave you to your evening.”

I grabbed a pen, jotting my details down in the notebook Hélène gave me. I didn’t have any business cards, but perhaps it was something I should look into. There were suddenly a lot of things that I thought I should look into doing or getting. The end of September wasn’t that far away, and I already got the impression that the next few weeks were going to be an ever-increasing storm of chaos.

At least I’d get to work on my own paintings for a change.

I made a mental note to email Rachel to tell her I would be unavailable for the next month or two, otherwise I’d find myself drowning in work and nothing would be done well.

I handed the notebook back to Hélène, who in return gave me a rather beautiful business card with a glossy photograph of a landscape on the back.

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