The Day We Met Read online

  ‘Wow! That’s gorgeous,’ she says, looking at the fountain. ‘I bet it’s stunning when it’s switched on.’

  ‘Well, this is your hotspot. Try it.’

  She reaches into her coat pocket and brings her phone out. The white background illuminates her face when she sparks it into action.

  ‘You were right! One tiny bar of signal!’ she says, calling someone and holding the phone to her ear.

  I suddenly feel like I’m intruding, so slowly back away and head towards reception.

  ‘Typical!’ she shouts, as I spin around, facing her again. ‘I go to all this trouble to make a phone call and … straight to voicemail. I’ll try again in a few minutes.’

  ‘Want some company?’ I ask. ‘I really feel like I ought to see this mission through.’

  ‘If you want …’ she says, sitting on the edge of the fountain, facing out into the darkness where the hills are. I take a seat next to her.

  ‘So, are you coming or going?’

  ‘Good question!’ She laughs, gently. ‘I have no idea,’ she says, running her hands through her hair, before clasping them together on her knees. ‘I only arrived a few hours ago but I might leave tonight.’

  ‘OK … Are you here on your own?’

  ‘Yes. Well, no. I’m supposed to be here with a group. Doing an art thing. But I don’t think I’m up to it,’ she says quietly, checking her phone.

  ‘Why not?’

  She goes quiet, peering down at the stone floor and tapping the tip of her boots together before answering.

  ‘I’ve had a tough time recently. I had a bit of a breakdown six months ago and I’m trying to get over it.’

  ‘Ah, OK. I’m so sorry.’

  She casts a polite smile my way. The kind of smile which says, ‘I know there’s nothing you can say to that’.

  ‘So, what do you actually want that you don’t have?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asks, frowning.

  ‘Well, generally, if things are bad in your life it’s because you need or want something you currently don’t have. What’s your thing?’

  She gazes out into the darkness in front of us, searching for an answer. The light from the hall shines intimately on to her face.

  ‘I honestly have no idea,’ she says, eventually, shaking her head. ‘I mean, I have everything I want – a supportive family, a great job, I’m getting married next year …’

  ‘I think there’s a difference between what we need and what we want and it’s up to you to figure out what the difference is.’

  ‘Maybe I’m just being a brat and need to be more grateful for what I have,’ she says, rather forcefully.

  ‘Nah,’ I shoot back. ‘I reckon there’s probably a lot going on between the lines you haven’t figured out yet. But you will. Sure of it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she says and then laughs, putting her hands in her coat pockets in an attempt to keep warm.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ I smile.

  ‘You just remind me of someone who would say something like that, that’s all.’

  Playfully narrowing my eyes at her, which makes her laugh even more, I change the subject.

  ‘So, how come you’re doing this art course anyway?’

  ‘Art – well, mainly photography – used to be a huge hobby of mine years ago, so my family booked me on to it. Thought it would help me find myself.’

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you should do the course. It sounds like something you could get a lot out of. Art has an amazing knack of soothing the soul.’

  ‘You think so?’ she asks, tilting her head with surprise in her voice. ‘I wouldn’t have had you down as an art bod. Arty types are quite flamboyant and you look too …’

  ‘Too what?’

  She looks me up and down. I’m worried I look scruffy – I haven’t shaved in a few days, and because I’m dark-haired, this means I already have something between stubble and beard.

  ‘Normal …’ she says, eventually.

  I laugh. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have had you down as being as “broken” as you say you are. I guess appearances can be deceptive, can’t they?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ She smiles. ‘So, what are you here for?’

  ‘Just here with some friends for the weekend,’ I tell her. ‘Listen, why don’t you sleep on it and decide tomorrow?’

  Just then, her phone starts to ring. She picks it out of her pocket and looks at the screen, before quickly glancing at me.

  ‘You better take that. It was lovely to meet you – oh, I’m Jamie,’ I say quickly, shuffling off back towards the hall.

  ‘Stephanie,’ she replies with a smile as she answers the phone.

  Easels, pencils, charcoals and acrylic paints are scattered around. Some heaters have been placed in the room, presumably so that the life model doesn’t freeze to death when she comes out. The warm air roars as it circulates around us.

  ‘Hi, everyone! My name is Jamie Dobson and I’ll be running this fine-art workshop …’

  Each of the participants watches me as they sit behind their workstations, eager to get started. They nod along, impressed with my credentials as I tell them I’m twenty-eight years old and gained a First Class degree from Central Saint Martins, won prestigious internships with well-known artists and have exhibited regionally. And then I notice her at the back of the room, smiling at me.

  ‘So, you decided to stay after all?’ I ask, going over as soon as my intro finishes.

  She laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘What can I say? You talked me into it.’

  We spend the next few hours drawing various life pieces: an arrangement of items in the middle of the room, some fruit and then a life model.

  ‘Please don’t look, it’s rubbish. I’m terrible at life drawing,’ Stephanie says, trying to cover her easel as I make my way around the class.

  ‘No, you’re not. I love what you’ve done with light on that bit. Well done!’

  ‘The bit where I’ve just coloured it in black around the chair, you mean? That’s not the point of the assignment, is it, though?!’

  ‘The point is to interpret what you see. Not draw a perfect nose, or pair of hands,’ I tell her. ‘And besides, shadows are actually a very important part of pencil and charcoal drawing.’

  I reach out and place my finger about a centimetre away from the left part of her jaw, as if telling her to tilt it up slightly.

  ‘When you draw a face, you don’t draw a line,’ I explain, drawing my finger parallel to the edge of her face. Her green eyes watch mine the whole time. ‘A lot of drawing is just as much about depicting what you don’t see as what you do see.’

  She laughs, gently. ‘I don’t really understand that.’

  ‘Sometimes, you can only see what’s there when you draw around it … when you see what’s in the shadows. You see?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispers.

  ‘Jamie, could you take a look at this hand for me? I’ve messed it up!’ a man shouts from the other side of the room.

  Our eyes flicker towards each other once more, before I head off to see my other students, leaving her to find shadows to draw.

  After a day of workshops, all I want to do is go outside and get some fresh air. I love teaching, but it’s full on. Walking out into the grounds at the front of the Hall, I see someone sitting on the bench under the huge oak tree. I smile when I realise it’s Stephanie again.

  ‘Strike a pose!’ she shouts, pointing a camera in my direction.

  I stop and stand, hands in my pockets, all my weight on one leg, looking off into the distance. My best catalogue model impersonation.

  ‘’Ow’s this, love?’ I yell back, in my thickest Mancunian accent, channelling my inner moody Liam Gallagher.

  ‘Marvellous, darling! Next stop, Milan!’ she shouts back as I walk over to where she’s sitting.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ I ask, gesturing towards the empty space on the bench next to her.

  ‘No, not at a
ll,’ she replies, taking out her iPod earbuds and shoving them into her coat pocket.

  ‘I’m glad you decided to stay.’

  ‘Yeah, me too. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I thought it would be. And I feel proud of myself.’

  ‘You should be. I mean, I don’t know why, but you should be.’

  ‘But I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were a teacher on this bloody course!’

  I turn to her, laughing.

  ‘Nah,’ I say, shrugging. ‘It was irrelevant. Far better I was the cool stranger you opened up to. You might not have decided to stay if you’d known you’d see me again.’

  ‘Erm, who said I thought you were cool?’

  ‘I’m an artist, so of course I’m cool! No, you’re actually right. I’m just an art geek who never made it as a proper artist. I’m happy watching from the sidelines, though.’

  ‘What? Oh shut up!’ she squeals, playfully nudging me with her elbow. ‘I’ve heard all about your credentials, you told us yourself.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say, laughing. ‘Listen, do you fancy a drink? I could go grab a bottle and bring it out. Fetch some blankets. It’s a stunning night for stargazing.’

  She looks up to admire the sky which is getting darker by the minute, going quiet for a few seconds.

  ‘Stephanie?’

  ‘Yeah? Erm, sorry,’ she says. ‘A drink. Yeah, just one glass though. Don’t want to be hungover tomorrow!’

  ‘OK, then!’ I say, jumping up and walking back towards the Hall, before turning back to shout, ‘What colour? Red or white?’

  ‘White!’ she calls. ‘I hate red!’

  ‘Me too!’ I shout back.

  I manage to borrow some of those huge, thick tartan blankets you get in these places, so we wrap them around ourselves and Stephanie tucks her hair in at the back, but it remains loose around her face. I made her promise not to tell anyone I used such a blanket on the basis that I was supposed to be a ‘hard northerner’ and I was only doing it to make her feel better.

  We don’t stop talking and laughing. Our lives are so different – I went to a rough comp, she attended fee-paying independent schools – but we have so many similarities with our love for art, literature and music. We both even despise Queen – the band, not the monarch. ‘I love “Bohemian Rhapsody”, Jamie,’ she says, ‘but I don’t get the other stuff. It’s just screaming and drama.’

  As predicted, it’s a really clear night and the stars shine brightly.

  ‘So am I allowed to ask what actually happened a few months ago? Because you seem to have it all quite together now.’

  She shrugs. ‘It’s a bit of a long story, really. I just lost myself for a while.’

  ‘Vague. Nice,’ I joke, doing an ‘OK’ sign with my fingers as I wink.

  ‘Yeah, I do vague well, don’t you think?’

  ‘So very well,’ I agree. ‘How did the rest of your family react?’

  ‘Now, that is a difficult one to answer.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My family don’t like talking about things. We have elephants in our rooms and we don’t discuss them.’

  ‘Has it always been like that?’

  ‘No,’ she replies, taking a large gulp of wine. ‘Anyway, tell me about your family. Folks? Brothers? Sisters?’

  ‘Only child. Mum still lives in Manchester. Dad walked out on us when I was little. I haven’t seen him since I was ten.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry …’

  ‘It is what it is.’

  ‘His loss, I’m sure,’ she says, upbeat, to try and lighten the tone of the conversation, which has descended into rather deep waters on all fronts. ‘Anyway, now you have to tell me more about you.’

  ‘There’s not much to say. Pretty much just working at the school and creating my own stuff when I can. I use the garage as a workshop.’

  ‘Oh, how marvellous that you can keep doing your own stuff,’ she says, enthusiastically. ‘So, what’s the dream?’

  ‘My dream?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I think about it for a few seconds, gazing up at the sky as I consider my answer.

  ‘To work as an artist professionally and make a living from it. My best mate, Cal, is a designer. Hardly earns anything at the moment but he will make it at some point. He at least gets manages to get his stuff out there. Me, him and my wife were best friends at uni.’

  ‘Oh, it must be so important to be married to someone who gets the art thing,’ Stephanie says. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Helen. And oh, yeah! She absolutely loves that I’m creative.’

  ‘I can imagine. How long have you been together?’

  I smile at her. ‘Since we were eighteen.’

  ‘Oh, really? That’s amazing!’

  ‘We met at Saint Martins. She’s an incredible designer and works in advertising in Manchester.’

  ‘Oh, OK, so she went down the more commercial route?’

  ‘Yes, she’s much more level-headed than I am. I’m the classic bohemian romantic artist, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So, when did you get married?’

  ‘Three years ago. No kids yet – everyone always asks,’ I say, rolling my eyes.

  ‘No rush, I’m sure. I’m not planning on going down that route for a while,’ she agrees, taking a sip of wine.

  ‘Anyway …’ I nudge her arm. ‘What’s your dream? I see from the enormous rock on your finger you’re engaged. Big fancy wedding planned?’

  ‘A big wedding next July, yes,’ she says, bringing her hand closer to her face as the diamond sparkles in the light coming from the Hall.

  ‘Is that the kind of wedding you’ve always wanted?’

  ‘It’ll be really beautiful. It’s in this gorgeous castle about an hour away which has got a moat and everything. Matt found it and thought it would be perfect,’ she gushes.

  ‘How did you meet Matt?’

  ‘It was about four years ago when I lived in London. At a party. I mean, in all honesty, it was when I was going through a bad time but didn’t realise that until later on,’ she explains, wrapping her blanket around her more tightly. ‘But he stuck with me through it all. He works for our family company, as a sales manager. I work there too, as marketing manager.”

  ‘And you’re happy?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ she answers, looking at me like I’m demented for even asking such a thing. ‘I mean, I’ve got the ring, we’ve set the date, we’ve invited one hundred of our closest family and friends—’

  ‘Only one hundred?’

  ‘And, besides,’ she says, laughing, ‘Matt is such a great guy. When he looks at me he sees security, safety, a wife, the future mother of his children …’

  ‘I’m sure he sees what I do – a smart, funny, intelligent, beautiful young woman.’

  ‘No,’ she quickly shoots back, glancing at me. ‘Matt looks at me. He doesn’t see me. There’s a difference.’

  Her eyes suddenly leave my face; she doesn’t know where to look.

  ‘Yes,’ I say quietly, ‘there is.’

  We are both still, silent. Her eyes are drawn back to mine. It’s that moment when you can just feel a connection with someone, when your heart starts to beat a little quicker. There is suddenly a ravine of uncertainty between us in the inches between our faces. It feels like a lifetime, but like most intense moments, it actually only lasts a few seconds. We’ve been chattering away for so long, and now it’s silent. The only thing I can hear is our breathing, the pace of which has dramatically increased. As our faces inch closer, I feel the faintest brush of her mouth on my lips. And then we simultaneously jump away from each other.

  The silence continues, only this time it’s filled with awkwardness and embarrassment.

  ‘Jesus! Erm, I’m so sorry,’ I say, placing my glass on the grass and removing my blanket.

  ‘No, I’m sorry!’ she replies. ‘God, what the hell happened?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. We’ve probably just had too much to drink,’
I say, lying. Neither of us are particularly drunk, but I need to say something because I have no clue about what just happened. ‘I should go.’

  Standing up, I take a few deep breaths and edge away from her.

  ‘Yes, of course. You go, I’ll stay here for a bit.’

  ‘Sure you’ll be OK?’ I ask, running my hands through my hair.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ she says, raising her knees up to her chest on the bench.

  ‘OK, well. I‘ll probably see you tomorrow before you leave.’

  ‘Night, Jamie.’

  I got no more than a few hours’ sleep.

  What. The. Fuck?

  That near kiss.

  What the hell was I thinking? What were both of us thinking? I’ve never, ever done anything like that before. Thank God we stopped it before anything happened. I shouldn’t have let it get to that stage to start with. But I was having such a great time with her. She was just someone I wanted to get to know. There’s something about her …

  I don’t see her the next day. She isn’t in any of my workshops.

  When the course is over and checkout time arrives, the reception area is packed with people. Everyone gathers next to the fireplace and I can’t help but peer up at the sign on the wall which sparked our first conversation. A smile sweeps across my face as I wait to hand my keys in.

  ‘Jamie?’

  I turn around to see Stephanie, looking much happier than she was last time she was here. Her cheekbones are accentuated when she smiles, her nose is slightly upturned and wiggles slightly when she talks.

  She’s beautiful.

  ‘Stephanie! Are you off now?’

  ‘Yes, Matt is outside. Just wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘Ah! OK!’ I smile, hiding a weird disappointment I can’t quite work out. ‘Well, it’s been lovely knowing you, albeit briefly.’

  ‘You too,’ she smiles back, her eyes locked on to mine.

  ‘And best of luck with everything. Keep up the drawing, you’ve got potential,’ I tell her.

  ‘I will. Perhaps I’ll come back next year,’ she says, picking her bag up and walking towards the main door.