Page 13 of Handle with Care
“Let’s split the list.” Sitting straight in my chair, I nod decisively. “That’s it. Simple. You take half, and I take half. That’s only… one hundred twenty-six exhibits each.” I give him my best smile. “That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”
“Well, it doesn’t sound good, to be honest. I’m not certain about this approach…”
I give him a warning look. “It’s a great idea, trust me. Lily said she’d email us the latest version of the document. So, then, the question is, do you want the first half or the second half?”
Flipping through the spreadsheet, I start to decode it. Cleverly, there’s a column with the temporary locations that’ve been filled out with the new arrivals. “Anything here already is highlighted in green.”
He rolls his chair closer, leans over, and peers at the paper like a man who has definitely seen too much.
If he’s daunted, I can capitalize on this till my fake confidence becomes real confidence. “Yellow looks like it’s sourced and needs to still come to the museum. Pink looks like the stuff to buy or the few things that don’t have any agreements signed or anything. I think those are ones to check out with Lily. What do you think? There doesn’t seem to be any other pattern to this that I can tell. Maybe they’re coded by part of the exhibit. There seems to be themes.”
“First half, then.” Will straightens, too, as I pass over the first half of the spreadsheet pages. “It makes no difference to me.”
I nod. Then I flip through my half with the remaining exhibits. I’m not gonna lie, it’s in fact overwhelming, if I’m honest. Better not start with an honesty-being-the-best-policy approach with myself right now. But I can do this. I must have learned something useful in my degree about collections andexhibitions and strategy. Then curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask, “Have you taken any museums courses?”
Mr. McLaren shakes his head and gives an apologetic smile, full charm, slightly crinkly eyes. “No. I studied economics at uni.”
“Huh.” I gulp. I guess that’s how he ended up over in Development on the money side.
We look at each other for a long moment, which is growing increasingly longer with each passing second. Till I can take in the gold flecks in his silvery blue eyes. That’s neither here nor there right now.
“Well,” I say gamely, a bit too loud in the dead silence. My face is warm. And is his a bit pink too? “There’s no time like the present to learn, is there?”
And that, weird silence surrounds us once more as we gather our things. Except I don’t have a desk to return to. In the end, I decide to stay while Will leaves, looking uncharacteristically harried.
“Hey,” I call out when he reaches the doorway. “Err, Will.”
He pauses then and looks over his shoulder at me, looking torn between leaving and hearing what it is I have to say. It might be my imagination, but I think he swallowed hard.
“I might have a museums textbook kicking around that I can loan you. It’ll give you an idea of some principles about working with collections and things.”
Will blinks in surprise, his eyebrows lifting. “You would do that?”
“Absolutely.”
Because God help me—and us—if I have to give Will museum lessons on a wild deadline. We both need him to learn as much as he can as soon as possible if this isn’t going to be a complete disaster.
Chapter Seven
The day passes like molasses, thick and sticky. When I head out at the end of the day, it’s surprisingly warm and muggy for an early summer day in England, according to my colleagues, the clouds thick overhead. I ended up spending the day in the meeting room, which I suppose is kind of like a private office. I’m all too happy to shake off the weird day and meet up later with my flatmate Russell for a drink around the corner.
In front of the pub, people stand with drinks and cigarettes and vapes, the spillover from indoors. Meanwhile, I head in to where Russell’s landed us seats.
Except on the way in, I see the person I’m dying to avoid: Mr. McLaren—Will—with an equally stunning woman, who is all glossy brunette waves and doubtlessly expensive perfume, like they’ve stepped out of the same fashion photo shoot. I’ll give him credit, he looks the part, at least, appropriate for the fashion part of the exhibition. Except I don’t know what to make of the weird feeling in my gut when I see her. Whatever it is, I brush it off and make my way to the far end bar to get my pint in a Mr. McLaren-free zone.
Russell’s found us seats at the back. Meanwhile, I’ve lost track of Will, and hopefully, he’s disappeared like a bad dream. Russell’s got a mess of curls that defy any attempt at order, and he wears a checked shirt with jeans, which is an appropriate enough sort of look for an illustrator. His studio isn’t too far away, and he was up for a drink after work.
“Dylan! Over here.”
“Hey.”
Russell gets up to give me a hug, already prepared with his own pint. I set mine down, and we sit. He’s snagged a choice spot where we can see what’s going on around us, a bit out of the thick of the post-work drinks crowd where we have a chance of hearing each other.
“God, I’m glad to see you.” I lean back in my chair after a long drink from my pint.
Russell laughs, bright-eyed. “I didn’t realize you cared so much,” he teases me.
It’s harmless banter because he’s totally in love with his boyfriend, another flatmate of ours. Except Jason’s at work tonight since he’s in the theatre.
